VAGABOND  ADVENTURES. 


RALPH 


•^^-Tj 


BOSTON: 
FIELDS,   OSGOOD,  &   CO. 

1870. 


<1 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870, 

BY    RALPH    KEELER, 
i  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS:  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 

CAMBRIDGE. 


Librae* 


TO 

oiti  JFrunfc 
EDWARD    P.    BASSETT,    ESQ., 

This  book  is  affectionately  inscribed,  with  the  wish, 
which  is  hardly  a  hope,  that  the  public  may  take  my 
Life  half  as  easily  and  good-naturedly  as  he  takes  his 
own. 

R.  K. 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK    I. 
AMONG  WHARVES   AND   CABINS. 


CHAPTER    I. 
PREFATORY  ..........    n 

CHAPTER    II. 
FAMILY  MATTERS        ........    14 

CHAPTER    III. 
A  FUGITIVE         .........    23 

CHAPTER    IV. 
A  STORMY  TIME         ........    34 

CHAPTER    V. 
A  BOY'S  PARADISE      .        .....       ...    47 

CHAPTER    VI. 
THE  CONTUMELY  OF  CAPTAINS  ......    54 


vi  Contents. 

CHAPTER    VII. 
ALMOST  A  TRAGEDY    .       . 62 

CHAPTER    VIII. 
TAKEN  PRISONER 71 

CHAPTER    IX. 
SQUALOR ^    80 

CHAPTER    X. 
A  FINAL  TRIUMPH go 


BOOK    II. 
THREE  YEARS   AS   A   NEGRO-MINSTREL. 

Mr.  12-15. 

CHAPTER    I. 
MY  FIRST  COMPANY 101 

CHAPTER    II. 
I  BECOME  A  BENEFICIARY 108 

CHAPTER    III. 
THE  FATE  OF  THE  SERENADERS 116 

CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  TRIALS  AND  TRIUMPHS  OF  THE  "BOOKER  TROUPE"  129 


Contents.  vii 

CHAPTER  v. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  "  BOOKER  TROUPE  "    .       .       .       .  145 

CHAPTER    VI. 
"  THE  MITCHELLS  " 156 

CHAPTER    VII. 
ON  THE  FLOATING  PALACE 173 

CHAPTER    VIII. 
WILD  LIFE 187 

CHAPTER    IX. 
THE  PERFORMER  SOCIALLY 205 

CHAPTER    X. 
ADIEU  TO  THE  STAGE 214 


BOOK    III. 

THE  TOUR  OF  EUROPE  FOR  $181 
CURRENCY. 


CHAPTER    I. 
STARTING  ON  A  CATTLE-TRAIN 223 

CHAPTER    II. 
TAKING  TO  EUROPEAN  WAYS    .  * 230 


viii  Contents. 

CHAPTER    III. 
STUDENT  LIFE  AND  WANDERINGS 242 

CHAPTER    IV. 
A  FIGHT  WITH  FAMINE '  .       .  254 

CHAPTER   V. 
THE  CONCLUSION  266 


BOOK    I. 


AMONG  WHARVES  AND  CABINS. 


i* 


CHAPTER    I. 

PREFATORY. 

T  T  is  an  odd  sort  of  fortune  to  have  lived  an 
•*•  out-of-the-way  or  adventurous  life.  There  is 
always  a  temptation  to  tell  of  it,  and  not  always  a 
reasonable  surety  that  others  share  the  interest 
in  it  of  the  contcur  himself.  It  would,  indeed,  be 
a  nice  problem  in  the  descriptive  geometry  of 
narrative  to  determine  the  exact  point  where  the 
lines  of  the  two  interests  meet,  —  that  of  the  nar- 
rator and  that  of  the  people  who  have  to  endure 
the  narration.  I  cannot  say  that  I  ever  hope  to 
solve  this  problem  ;  and  in  the  present  instance, 
especially,  I  would  with  due  respect  submit  its 
solution  to  the  acuter  intellects  of  others. 

This  little  book  is  intended  to  contain  a  plain 
sketch  of  my  personal  history  up  to  the  close  of 
my  twenty-second  year.  The  autobiographical 
form  is  used,  not  because  of  any  supposed  in- 
terest of  the  public  in  the  writer  himself,  but 


12  Vagabond  Adventures. 

because  there  does  not  seem  to  be  any  other 
way  in  which  a  connected  account  of  the  ad- 
ventures can  well  be  given. 

No  one,  I  think,  can  be  more  sensible  than 
I  am  that  my  story  is  nothing  if  not  true. 
Hume  has  wisely  said,  "A  man  cannot  speak 
long  of  himself  without  vanity."  I  should  like 
to  be  allowed  to  add  that  I  have  never  known 
or  conceived  of  a  person  —  except  probably  the 
reader  and  writer  of  these  pages  —  who  could 
talk  five  minutes  about  himself  without  —  lying. 
That  is,  to  be  sure,  reducing  the  thing  to  math- 
ematical exactness.  An  overestimating  smile,  or 
an  underestimating  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  or  a 
tone  of  the  voice  even,  will  always  —  though 
sometimes  inadvertently  — 

"  leave  it  still  unsaid  in  part, 
Or  say  it  in  too  great  excess." 

While  this  is  not  so  applicable  to  written  history, 
still  in  the  face  of  hyperbolic  and  bathetic  possi- 
bilities I  owe  it  to  myself  to  premise  that  I  am 
going  to  be  more  than  ordinarily  truthful  in  this 
autobiography. 

And  there  is  certainly  some  merit  in  telling 
the  truth,  for  it  is  hard  work  when  one  is  his 


Prefatory.  1 3 

own  hero,  and  not  what  is  sometimes  termed  a 
moral  hero  at  that.  I  can  too,  I  may  add,  claim 
this  single  merit  from  the  start,  with  a  meekness 
almost  bordering  on  honesty ;  since  it  happens 
that  I  am  forced  to  be  veracious  by  the  fact  that 
there  are  scores  of  people  yet  in  the  prime  of 
life  who  are  cognizant  of  the  main  events  of  the 
ensuing  narrative. 


CHAPTER    II. 

FAMILY     MATTERS. 

T  T  may  be  laid  down  as  a  general  principle,  to 
-*•  start  with,  that  a  boy  had  better  not  run 
away  from  home.  Good  and  pious  reasons  are 
not  wanting,  and  might  be  here  adduced,  in  sub- 
stantiation of  this  general  principle.  Some  trite 
moralizing  might  be  done  just  now,  in  a  grave 
statement  that  an  urchin  needs  not  run  away  into 
the  world  after  its  troubles,  since  they  will  come 
running  to  him  soon  enough,  and  that  a  home  is 
the  last  fortress  weary  men  build  (and  oftentimes 
place  in  their  wives'  names)  against  the  slings  and 
arrows  of  outrageous  misfortune.  Why,  there- 
fore, it  may  be  asked,  with  overwhelming  convic- 
tion to  the  adult,  —  who,  by  the  way,  is  not  sup- 
posed to  be  one  of  the  congregation  of  the  present 
preaching,  —  why,  therefore,  should  the  juvenile 
fugitive  hasten  unduly  to  leave  what  all  the  effort 
of  his  after  life  will  be  to  regain  ? 


Family  Matters.  15 

Thus  having  done  my  duty  by  any  boy  of  a 
restless  disposition  who  may  chance  to  read  these 
memoirs  and  be  influenced  by  my  vagrant  exam- 
ple, I  proceed  to  state  that  I  ran  away  from  home 
at  the  mature  age  of  eleven,  and  have  not  been 
back,  to  stay  over  night,  from  that  remote  period 
to  this  present  writing. 

It  is  due,  however,  to  both  of  us,  —  the  home 
and  myself,  —  to  observe  that  it  was  not  a  very 
attractive  hearth  that  I  ran  from.  My  father  and 
mother  were  dead,  and  no  brothers  or  sisters  of 
mine  were  there,  —  nothing  at  all,  indeed,  like 
affection,  but  something  very  much  like  its  oppo- 
site. On  the  whole,  I  think,  under  exactly  the 
same  circumstances,  I  would  run  away  again. 

But  I  hope  this  remark  will  not  lead  the 
thoughtless  reader  to  assume  that  I  am  not  of 
a  respectable  family  ;  no  well-regulated  memoir 
could  be  written  without  one.  A  "  respectable 
family  "  has  long  since  become  the  acknowledged . 
starting-point,  and  not  unfrequently  the  scape- 
goat, of  your  conventional  autobiography.  A 
posteriori,  therefore,  our  respectability  is  estab- 
lished from  the  very  fact  that  there  is  an  auto- 
biographer  in  the  family. 


1 6  Vagabond  Adventures. 

When,  however,  a  great  truth  has  once  been 
discovered,  it  is  always  easy  to  find  many  paths 
of  proof  converging  toward  it.  When  Kepler, 
for  instance,  by  some  strange  guess  or  inspira- 
tion, hit  upon  the  colossal  fact  that  the  planets 
move  in  elliptical  orbits,  it  was  comparatively  an 
easy  thing,  —  or  should  have  been,  to  make  this 
scientific  parallel  correct,  —  to  come  at  half  a 
dozen  proofs  of  it  in  the  simple  properties  of  the 
conic  sections.  Thus,  too,  fortunately  for  us,  the 
respectability  of  our  family  can  be  proved  in  many 
ways,  and  even,  like  Kepler's  Laws,  by  mathe- 
matics itself.  Nay,  our  proofs  can  be,  and  indeed 
are,  established  by  common  arithmetical  nota- 
tion and  numeration  ;  because  the  members  of 
our  family  are  generally  rich. 

This  is  manifestly  an  unusual  advantage  for  an 
autobiographer,  since,  as  is  well  known,  he  almost 
invariably  comes  of  "  poor  but  honest  parents.  " 
And  there  is  no  little  pride  mixed  with  the 
candor  with  which  I  boast,  that  I  am  to  this 
day,  pecuniarily,  the  poorest  of  my  race. 

The  devious  course  of  my  wanderings,  as  a 
youthful  negro-minstrel  and  as  the  European 
tourist  of  one  hundred  and  eighty-one  paper  dol- 


Family  Matters.  17 

lars,  left  me  in  the  early  part  of  my  life  no  time 
or  inclination  to  look  into  such  commonplaces  as 
the  matters  of  my  inheritance.  It  was  but  a 
week  ago  that  I  rode  over  the  broad  Ohio  prairie 
where  I  was  born,  and  passed  by  the  pleasant 
farms  which,  with  the  broad  prairie,  were  the  pat- 
rimony left  to  me,  —  or,  I  should  say,  to  the  kind 
gentlemen  who  administered  them  for  me.  That 
property  has  never  been  any  care  to  me.  It  was 
so  thoroughly  administered  during  my  minority 
that  I  have  never  since  had  the  trouble  even  of 
collecting  rents. 

Now  there  may  be  people,  of  a  recklessly  im- 
aginative type,  who  suppose  it  would  excite  a 
pleasurable  thrill  to  ride  thus  over  a  great  prairie 
which  bears  one's  own  name,  but  no  more  tan- 
gible emolument  for  the  quondam  heir;  and  there 
may  be  people  of  so  aspiring  mental  constitutions 
as  to  think  it  a  grateful,  rollicking  piece  of  vanity 
to  pass  unrecognized  through  a  town  which  was 
once  sold  by  one's  own  administrator  for  fifty-two 
dollars :  but  I  am  free  to  confess  that  I  have 
endured  these  honors  within  the  past  week,  and 
have  carried  nothing  away  with  me,  in  the  matter 
of  gratification  or  sentiment,  but  a  dash  of  the 

B 


1 8  Vagabond  Adventures. 

sadness  which  has  settled  about  the  wreck  and 
ruin  of  the  old  homestead. 

Nothing  seems  to  thrive  there  but  the  cold- 
spring  at  the  foot  of  the  sand-ridge,  and'  the 
poplar  and  weeping-willow  which  grow  above  it. 
These  trees  had  and  have  for  me  a  plaintive  un- 
dertone to  the  rhythm  of  their  rustling  leaves 
which  I  do  not  hope  to  make  others  hear.  The 
willow  was  the  whip  with  which  a  friend  rode 
twenty  miles  from  the  county-seat  to  visit  my 
father,  in  the  early  times,  and  it  was  stuck  in  the 
ground  there,  on  the  margin  of  the  spring,  by  my 
little  sister ;  the  poplar  was  planted  beside  it  by 
my  mother.  They  are  both  tall  trees  now,  and 
a  sprig  from  one  of  them  has  been  growing  a 
long  time  over  the  graves  of  father,  mother,  and 
sister. 

At  an  early  stage  of  my  existence  and  of  my 
orphanage  I  was  introduced  to  a  species  of  in 
transitu  life,  being  passed  from  one  natural  guar- 
dian to  another  very  much  as  wood  is  loaded 
upon  Mississippi  steamboats.  It  was,  indeed, 
rather  a  rough  passage  of  short  stages, —  each, 
however,  more  remote  from  my  Ohio  birthplace  ; 


Family  Matters.  19 

and  I  have  always  thought  there  would  not  have 
been  so  many  figurative  slivers  left  behind  in  the 
hands  through  which  I  passed,  if  the  passage  had 
not  been  so  rough  and  headlong.  Finally,  at  the 
age  of  eight  or  nine  years,  I  was  shipped  away  to 
Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  to  be  placed  at  school. 

I  was  sent  thither  down  Lake  Erie  from  To- 
ledo, on  board  the  old  steamer  Indiana,  Captain 
Appleby  commanding.  Many  are  yet  living,  I 
suppose,  who  will  remember  this  craft,  —  the  first 
of  the  kind  upon  which  I  ever  embarked.  For 
my  part,  at  least,  I  think  I  shall  forget  every- 
thing else  before  I  forget  the  noble  sheet-iron 
Indian  who  stood  astride  of  her  solitary  smoke- 
stack, and  bent  his  bow  and  pointed  his  arrow 
at  the  lake  breezes.  A  meagre  brass-band,  too, 
as  was  the  generous  custom  of  those  days,  was 
attached  to  the  steamer,  and  discoursed  thin, 
gratuitous  music  during  the  voyage.  To  a  more 
sophisticated  gaze  the  attenuated,  besmoked 
brave  of  my  juvenile  rapture  would,  alas !  have 
looked  more  like  an  indifferent  silhouette  plas- 
tered belligerently  against  the  sky ;  but  it  was 
the  first  piece  of  statuary  I  ever  saw,  as  that  exe- 
crable brass  band  made  the  first  concert  I  ever 


2O  Vagabond  Adventures. 

heard,  and  the  Apollo  Belvedere,  at  Rome,  or 
Strauss's  own  orchestra,  led  by  himself,  at  Vienna, 
has  never  since  excited  in  me  such  honest  thrills 
of  admiration.  It  was  many  and  many  a  month 
before  that  swarthy  sheet-iron  Indian  ceased 
occasionally  to  sail  at  night  through  a  mingled 
cloud  of  coal-smoke  and  brass  music,  in  my 
boyish  dreams. 

The  lake  was  remarkably  calm,  and  the  entire 
passage  to  Buffalo  was  for  years  one  of  my  pleas- 
antest  memories.  On  that  first  voyage,  undoubt- 
edly, was  engendered  the  early  love  of  steam- 
boats, the  fruit  of  which  ripened  soon  afterward 
into  the  adventures  I  am  about  to  relate.  Noth- 
ing, I  am  convinced,  but  this  boundless  affection 
for  the  species  of  craft  in  question  enables  me  to 
remember,  as  shall  be  seen  directly,  the  names  of 
all  the  old  lake  steamers  I  had  to  do  with  in  my 
boyhood. 

And  this,  by  the  way,  is  no  small  internal  evi- 
dence of  the  truth  of  what  follows.  But  I  should 
not  have  called  your  attention  to  the  fact,  and  I 
should  not  have  been  forced  to  parade  my  con- 
scientiousness here  again,  if  I  had  not  come 
already  to  the  most  embarrassing  period  in  all 
my  history. 


Family  Matters.  21 

Without  seeming  to  manifest  a  feeling  which  I 
am  sure  I  do  not  now  entertain,  I  cannot  write 
about  the  two  or  three  miserable  years  I  passed 
in  Buffalo  ;  and,  if  I  omit  to  write  about  them,  a 
great  share  of  the  dramatic  flavor  of  my  story  is 
lost.  I  cannot,  therefore,  convey  to  you  even  the 
regret  with  which  I  am  compelled  to  pass  over 
this  period  of  my  life,  because  you  cannot  know, 
as  I  think  I  do,  that  exactly  such  a  childish  ex- 
perience of  unlovely  restraint  has  never  yet  got 
into  literature. 

N. 

Every  time  I  pass  the  old  Public  School-house 
No.  7,  in  Buffalo,  I  stop  and  gaze  at  it  with  a 
queer  sort  of  interest.  Yet  I  cannot  confess  to 
any  sentimental  regard  for  it ;  since  it  was,  after 
a  manner,  the  innocent  cause  of  my  enduring,  at 
least,  the  last  six  months  of  my  unpleasant  life 
in  its  neighborhood.  If  I  had  not  been  so  inter- 
ested by  day  in  the  Principal  and  duties  of 
that  school,  I  am  sure  I  should  have  fled  much 
sooner  than  I  did  from  the  roof  which  sheltered 
me  of  nights. 

Finally,  however,  one  domestic  misunderstand- 
ing, greater  than  many  others,  brought  me  to  a 


22  Vagabond  Adventures. 

conclusion  which  was  certainly  as  comprehen- 
sive in  its  wrath  as  it  may  have  been  lacking  in  a 
premise  or  two  of  its  logic.  At  this  temperate  re- 
move from  that  exciting  period  I  am  led,  at  least, 
to  doubt — in  the  interest  of  certain  kin  of  mine, 
who  could  hardly  have  been  responsible  for  facts 
they  knew  not  of —  whether  I  was  not  guilty  of 
that  poetic  fallacy,  placed  in  its  first  utterance,  I 
believe,  in  the  mouth  of  an  illustrious  Trojan,  and 
worn  very  threadbare  ever  since  in  the  mouth 
and  practice  of  almost  every  one,  — whether  I  did 
not,  that  is,  learn  a  great  deal  too  much  from  one 
to  judge  very  unjustly  of  all. 

At  any  rate,  in  the  domestic  crisis  just  alluded 
to,  I  rebelled  against  authority  whose  insignia  were 
fasces  of  disagreeable  beech-whips,  and,  at  the 
mature  age  of  eleven  years,  took  a  solemn  vow 
that  I  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  the 
people  of  my  home  circle  in  Buffalo,  or  with  any 
whatsoever  of  my  relatives,  some  of  whom  had 
placed  me  there ;  —  and  I  ran  away. 


CHAPTER    III. 

A     FUGITIVE. 

T7  SCAPING  from  the  house  at  night,  I  did 
-*— - '  not  have  time  or  presence  of  mind  to  take 
anything  with  me  but  what  I  carried  on  my  back. 

One  of  my  school-fellows,  who  had  been  fore- 
warned of  my  design,  met  me  by  appointment  on 
the  neighboring  corner,  and  smuggled  me  into 
his  father's  stable.  Here,  it  had  been  agreed,  I 
was  to  lodge  on  the  hay. 

My  friend  was  a  doughty,  reassuring  sort  of 
hero,  who  was  a  great  comfort  to  me  at  that  ner- 
vous moment  when.  I  entered  the  darkness  of  the 
hay-mow.  I  would  not  for  the  world  have  betrayed 
any  fraction  of  the  fear  which  his  swaggering 
manner  may  have  failed  to  dispel.  He  would 
assuredly  have  laughed  at  me  ;  and  I  believe  now, 
moreover,  he  would  have  taken  that,  or  any 
shadow  of  an  excuse,  for  joining  me  in  my  flight. 

So  strong,  indeed,  was  the  romantic   instinct 


24  Vagabond  Adventures. 

upon  that  young  gentleman  that  he  lingered  long 
about  the  spot  where  I  had  crawled  into  the  hay 
and  covered  up  my  head,  before  he  could  prevail 
upon  himself  to  go  back  to  the  house  and  to  his 
regular  bed.  He  had  assured  me  before  we  came 
into  the  stable,  out  of  the  pleasant  moonlight  of 
that  late  spring  evening,  that  he  envied  me  very 
much,  as  I  was  going  to  have  lots  of  fun ;  he  only 
wished  he  had  a  good  reason  to  run  away  from 
home  too ;  but  then,  he  added  thoughtfully,  as  he 
looked  up  at  the  lights  in  the  window  of  the  fam- 
ily sitting-room,  his  mother  was  so  "dernedkind," 
and  his  father  so  "  blamed  good,"  that  he  did  n't 
see  how  he  could  leave  them  just  now. 

The  next  morning  my  friend  found  me  sleeping 
very  comfortably,  with  my  head  and  one  arm  pro- 
truding limply  out  of  the  hay.  Awaking  me,  he 
proceeded  to  draw  from  his  trousers  pocket  sev- 
eral pieces  of  bread-and-butter  for  my  breakfast ; 
which  was  none  the  less  toothsome  from  its  some- 
what dishevelled  state,  consequent  upon  the  man- 
ner of  its  previous  stowage. 

While  munching  that  surreptitious  meal,  my 
thoughts  very  naturally  wandered  to  the  breakfast- 
table,  where  I  should  that  morning  probably  be 


A  Fugitive.  25 

missed  for  the  first  time  by  the  people  from  whom 
I  had  fled  ;  and  I  amused  myself,  as  well  as  my 
romantic  caterer,  with  what  we  both  of  us,  no 
doubt,  considered  a  highly  humorous  account  of 
the  grievous  commotion  which  would  ensue  at 
that  ordinarily  so  solemn  victualling. 

Emboldened  by  the  lively  appreciation  of  my 
school-fellow,  and  by  the  reviving  influence  of  the 
bread-and-butter,  I  grew  imaginative  and  gro- 
tesque in  my  daring  pleasantry.  I  went  so  far  as 
to  describe  the  scene  at  that  breakfast-table  when 
Bridget  came  to  the  dining-room  door  with  wild 
eyes,  and  the  announcement  that  my  room  had 
not  been  occupied  on  the  night  before  ;  how  the 
pater-familias,  at  that  dramatic  moment,  had 
dropped  a  surprised  spoon  into  the  splattering 
gravy  of  the  stewed  meat ;  and  how  his  wife  op- 
posite, then  in  the  act  of  pouring  chiccory,  had  — 
whether  in  dismay  at  the  overwhelming  news  or 
at  the  sudden  soiling  of  her  tablecloth  —  upset 
the  coffee-pot. 

These  and  many  more  very  brilliant  and  mirth- 
provoking  feats  of  boyish  humor  —  very  brilliant 
and  mirth-provoking,  of  course,  I  mean,  to  my 
friend  and  myself — did  I  perform  that  morning 


26  Vagabond  Adventures. 

in  the  hay-mow;  all  bearing  upon  the  assumed 
utter  discomfiture  of  the  bereaved  people  about 
that  breakfast-table.  But,  alas !  even  a  precocious 
autobiographer,  with  his  mouth  full  of  bread-and- 
butter,  may  make  the  mistake,  so  common  to  the 
adult  of  his  species,  of  over-estimating  his  own 
importance.  I  have  since  learned  that  there  was 
no  sensation  of  any  consequence  at  the  breakfast- 
table  in  question,  and  that  my  subsequent  perma- 
nent loss  was  taken  with  remarkable  equanimity 
and  resignation. 

It  was  an  expressive,  nay,  eloquent,  look  of 
envy  and  admiration  that  my  friend  gave  me, 
when  it  came  time  for  him  to  leave  me  to  my  own 
devices  for  the  forenoon,  while  he  went  reluctant- 
ly to  school.  Even  to  this  moment  I  cannot  say 
that  I  covet  the  amount  of  knowledge  he  carried 
away  from  his  books  that  day,  or,  indeed,  the 
succeeding  three  days. 

I  sallied  stealthily  forth  to  amuse  myself  in  the 
by-streets  till  he  came  back  at  noon  to  bring  my 
dinner ;  which  consisted  of  a  repetition  of  the 
breakfast,  with  the  added  dessert  of  an  apple. 
This  latter  he  carried  carefully  in  his  hand,  but 
the  bread-and-butter  he  invariably  bore  stowed 


A  Fugitive.  27 

away  in  his  trousers  pocket ;  I  say  invariably, 
for  I  lived  two  or  three  days  thus  on  his  secret 
bounty. 

About  dusk  of  the  second  evening  he  came  to 
me  with  — in  addition  to  the  bread-and-butter  for 
my  supper  —  the  startling  news,  that  he  was  go- 
ing to  take  me  to  the  theatre.  I  do  not  remem- 
ber how  we  got  in,  —  it  was  not,  certainly,  by 
paying  our  way.  I  incline  to  the  opinion  that 
my  friend  had  some  secret  understanding  with 
the  door-tender.  I  know  merely  that,  by  some 
means,  we  achieved  our  entrance  to  the  pit  of 
the  old  Eagle  Street  Theatre. 

I  have  heard  good  citizens  of  Buffalo  complain 
that,  since  Lola  Montez  burned  down  that  seat 
of  the  histrionic  Muse,  the  drama  has  languished 
in  their  city.  Of  course  I  am  riot  competent  to 
decide  in  such  matters ;  but,  that  being  the  first 
playhouse  of  any  kind  I  ever  entered,  I  am  glad 
to  be  able  to  say  that  I  have  never  since  seen 
anything  in  the  theatrical  line  so  absorbingly 
thrilling,  or  so  gorgeously  magnificent,  as  the  old 
Eagle  Street  Theatre  was  to  me  that  night.  The 
name  and  plot  of  the  play  I  have  forgotten ;  but 
the  dark  frown  of  that  smooth  villain  in  the  third 


28  Vagabond  Adventures. 

act  —  where  his  villany  first  began  to  show  itself 
to  my  unpractised  comprehension — will  never 
fade  from  my  remembrance. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  was,  but  up  to  that 
time  I  recollect  I  was  under  the  juvenile  impres- 
sion that  virtue  and  correct  grammar  always 
went  together.  I  can  therefore  convey  no  idea 
of  the  shock  with  which  I  learned  so  late  in  the 
play,  that  the  splendidly  dressed  man  who  could 
talk  such  eloquent,  persuasive  language,  and 
withal  in  such  scrupulous  conformity  to  that 
most  difficult  of  rules  which  keeps  the  verb  un- 
der the  regimental  discipline  of  it£  subject-nomi- 
native,—  that  the  man  whose  plaintive  periods 
sometimes  rose  to  the  iambic  majesty  of  blank 
verse,  and  who  never  got  a  case  or  tense  wrong, 
howsoever  wild,  ecstatic,  or  dithyrambic  his  ut- 
terances of  devotion  to  that  innocent,  long-suffer- 
ing angel,  the  walking-lady,  —  that  this  man,  I 
say,  should  nevertheless  turn  out  to  be  a  monster, 
whom,  to  borrow  a  little  from  his  style  of  phrase- 
ology, it  were  mild  flattery  to  call  the  greatest 
and  vilest  of  rogues. 

My  memory  of  the  whole  evening  is  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  overwhelming  shock  of  that 


A  Fugitive.  29 

sad  surprise.  The  grammatical  Arcadia  of  my 
boyish  belief  was  laid  waste  as  with  an  earth- 
quake. 

The  next  morning,  after  I  had  eaten  my  usual 
bread-and-butter  with  more  than  usual  appetite* 
I  received  a  few  choice  friends  at  my  lodgings 
in  the  hay-mow,  and  we  had  a  consultation. 

It  was  suggested  that  I  was  too  near  my  for- 
mer haunts  to  be  safe.  Indeed,  rumors  of  an  act- 
ual search  for  me  had  reached  the  ears  of  one 
boy,  of  whom,  oddly  enough,  I  can  recall  nothing 
more  now  than  that  those  ears  of  his  were  re- 
markably large  ones,  and  stood  out  prominently 
from  each  side  of  his  head ;  that  the  best  and 
most  picturesque  view  of  those  ears  was,  in  my 
opinion,  to  be  had  from  my  desk  just  behind  him 
at  school ;  and  that  I  was  especially  attracted 
and  edified  by  my  observations  upon  them  im- 
mediately after  he  had  had  his  hair  clipped  short. 

Those  are  grotesque  pranks,  by  the  way,  which 
the  memory  sometimes  plays  us  when  we  attempt 
to  grope  back  too  far.  Another  one  of  those  dar- 
ing spirits,  for  instance,  who  was  loudest,  and 
therefore,  I  fear,  most  influential,  with  his  coun- 


30  Vagabond  Adventures. 

sels  that  morning  in  the  hay-mow  has  faded,  as 
to  body,  name,  and  station,  wholly  from  my  mind, 
and  exists  to  me  now  literally  as  a  cherub  with 
a  mammoth  straw  hat  for  wings.  From  anything 
that  I  can  positively  remember,  I  -would  not  be 
prepared  to  take  my  oath  that  he  ever  had  any 
arms,  legs,  or  trunk  at  all.  I  can  recall  only  his 
big,  round,  staring  eyes,  which  stood  out  at  the 
tops  of  his  puffy  cheeks  like  a  couple  of  glass 
knobs,  and  his  red  hair,  whose  decisive,  precip- 
itate ending  all  around  his  head  left  a  queer  im- 
pression that  rats,  or  some  larger  and  more  fero- 
cious animal,  had  been  his  barber.  I  forget  now 
whether  it  was  in  sport  or  earnest  that  I  used  to 
say  to  myself,  that  boy's  hair  had  been  "  chawed 
off." 

It  must  have  been  that  his  facial  aspect,  height- 
ened, of  course,  by  his  winged  straw  hat,  aided 
him  materially  in  the  expression  of  his  fears  with 
regard  to  my  safety ;  for  this  cherubic  Agamem- 
non carried  every  point  in  that  council  of  war ; 
and  it  was  unanimously  resolved  that  I  should 
change  my  quarters. 

Accordingly,  the  next  night, ^1  was  entertained 
in  the  stable  of  another  of  my  school-fellows, 


A  Fugitive.  31 

residing  at  the  remotest  corner  of  the  district. 
Now  I  do  not  want  to  be  considered  fastidious  or 
luxurious  in  my  tastes  ;  but  I  must  own  to  a  very 
loud  complaint,  entered  the  morning  afterward, 
against  the  comparative  discomforts  of  this  new 
lodging.  There  was  very  little  hay  in  the  stable 
to  which  I  had  been  transferred  ;  and  the  boards, 
moreover,  were  very  hard  indeed.  It  may  have 
been  an  improper  spirit  in  which  I  made  the  re- 
mark ;  but  I  went  back  again  to  the  first  school- 
fellow who  has  figured  in  this  narrative,  and  told 
him  if  a  boy  had  n't  a  respectable  barn  to  invite  a 
friend  to,  he  need  n't  think  /  was  going  to  be  his 
guest,  —  that's  all! 

After  watching,  for  a  moment,  the  impres- 
sion of  my  words  upon  my  friend,  I  said  fur- 
thermore, that  I  was  going  to  strike  out  for 
myself,  as  I  was  growing  tired  of  the  monotony 
of  hay-mows  and  bread-and-butter,  anyways.  I 
wanted  a  change. 

Then  came  one  of  the  most  impressive  mo- 
ments that  I  shall  have  to  chronicle  in  these 
memoirs ;  for,  as  soon  as  I  had  finished  speaking, 
my  friend  slapped  me  vigorously  on  the  back, 
making  at  the  same  time,  with  excited  shrillness, 


32  Vagabond  Adventures. 

this  observation,  "  Hey ! "  —  which,  being  a  com- 
mon juvenile  exclamation,  had,  of  course,  no 
jocose  allusion  to  the  principal  subject  of  my 
discourse. 

"  Hey !  bully  for  you  !  "  continued  my  en- 
thusiastic friend  and  school-fellow,  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  his  breath,  which  the  suddenness  of 
his  lucky  thought  had  evidently  taken  away. 
"  Hey  !  that 's  just  what  7'd  do.  I  'd  go  out  into 
the  world,  and  seek  my  fortune,  like  the  boys  in 
the  story-books  ;  and,"  said  he,  suddenly  chan- 
ging his  tone  and  manner  to  those  of  the  most 
excessive  gravity  and  deliberation,  —  "and,  that 
you  need  n't  be  without  means  to  help  you  along, 
take  these ! " 

Whereupon  he  drew  forth  from  his  capacious 
trousers  pocket,  and  placed  in  my  hand,  five 
large  copper  cents,  which  at  first  had  the  appear- 
ance of  so  many  oysters  fried  in  batter,  so  girt 
about  and  covered  were  they  with  fragments  of 
bread-and-butter,  deposited,  I  suppose,  in  the 
course  of  my  friend's  entire  catering. 

It  was,  indeed,  as  he  assured  me,  his  whole 
cash  capital ;  but  he  would  not  hear  to  my 
scruples  at  taking  it.  More  earnest  or  impres- 


A  Fugitive.  33 

sive  about  it,  or,  under  the  circumstances,  more 
.self-denying  and  truly  generous,  he  could  not 
have  been  if  he  had  been  giving  the  world 
away. 

So,  that  morning,  we  parted,  —  he  wending  his 
way,  by  no  means  con  amore,  to  school ;  and  I, 
with  a  queer,  uncertain  feeling  in  the  region  of 
my  small  waistcoat,  going  forth,  my  five  coppers 
in  my  pocket,  to  seek  my  fortune. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A    STORMY   TIME. 

ESERTING  entirely  the  haunts  of  my  play- 
fellows,  I  stole  down  to  the  wharves.  Here 
the  sight  of  the  crowded  shipping  brought  back, 
more  strongly  than  ever,  the  memory  of  that  ex- 
hilarating trip  on  the  old  Indiana,  with  her  sub- 
lime brass-band  and  warlike  sheet-iron  Indian  ; 
and  I  tried  to  "  hire  out "  on  a  steamboat. 

The  people  to  whom  I  made  application  eyed 
'  me  suspiciously,  for  I  was  very  small  of  my  age. 
They  also  asked  me  a  great  many  disagreeable 
questions,  and  generally  ended  by  advising  me  to 
go  home  to  my  friends,  if  I  had  any.  .My  size 
was  manifestly  against  me.  Vainly  I  assured 
them  I  was  eleven  years  old,  and  my  own  master. 
They  shook  their  heads,  and  told  me  brusquely  to 
"  go  ashore." 

At  last  I  went  on  board  of  a  steamer  called 
the  Diamond,  and,  after  a  little  inquiry,  found 


A  Stormy  Time.  35 

the  steward,  —  a  man  with  a  face  like  the  old 
steamer  itself,  with  just  seams  enough  in  it,  from 
long  battling  with  the  take  breezes,  to  give  hints 
of  sturdy  timbers,  or,  I  should  say,  of  hidden 
strength.  His  determined  mouth  ran  across  his 
face  like  one  of  the  bolted  arches  across  the  hur- 
ricane-deck,—  large,  strong,  firm.  His  hair  may 
be  thin  and  gray  now,  and  his  back  bent  with  the 
years,  —  if  they  have  not  beached  him  as  they 
have  the  old  steamer,  and  carried  him  away  alto- 
gether ;  but  so  great  was  the  impression  this  man 
made  on  me  then,  that  I  think  I  should  still  rec- 
ognize him  whenever  or  wherever  we  might 
chance  to  meet. 

Having,  I  remember,  gone  through  the  usual 
colloquy  with  him  as  a  steward,  I  assured  him  as 
a  man,  that  I  did  not  know  where  to  go  if  I  did 
go  ashore,  that  I  had  no  home  and  no  friends, 
and,  in  a  word,  so  played  upon  his  good  nature 
that  he  told  me  to  go  into  the  pantry  and  go  to 
work.  I  obeyed  ;  that  is,  I  went  into  the  pantry, 
and  went  to  work  —  upon  the  heartiest  meal  that 
I  had  ever  partaken  of  up  to  that  date. 

The  steward  meant  that  I  should  help  a  greasy- 
looking  fellow,  whom  I  found  washing  dishes 


36  Vagabond  Adventures. 

there  when  I  entered.  Overcome,  however,  by 
the  savory  smell  of  meats  and  other  remains  of 
dinner,  which  had  not  yet  gone  down  again  to 
the  kitchen,  the  first  words  I  said  to  the  succu- 
lent pantryman  were  framed  into  a  demand  for 
something  to  eat. 

As  soon  as  he  recovered  his  equanimity  and 
his  dish-cloth,  which  latter  he  had  dropped  in 
sheer  surprise  at  what  he  evidently  consid- 
ered my  stupendous  impudence,  the  pantry- 
man wanted  to  know,  bluntly,  what  I  was  doing 
there  ;  the  while  he  gave  his  foot  such  a  pre- 
liminary flourish  as  plainly  indicated  his  intention 
to  accelerate  my  motion  thence.  I  informed  him, 
in  considerable  haste,  that  I  came  by  the  stew- 
ard's order.  This  .straightway  altered  the  case  in 
the  opinion  of  the  obsequious  menial.  He  now 
pointed  at  a  row  of  chafing-dishes,  and  said, 
"  There  it  is ;  pitch  in  !  " 

A  few  moments  afterward  the  steward  found 
me  so  absorbed  in  my  "  work  "  that  I  did  not 
notice  his  entrance  into  the  pantry.  Bread-and- 
butter  in  small  quantities,  and  at  irregular  inter- 
vals, had  been,  it  must  be  owned,  rather  poor  sat- 
isfaction to  the  appetite  of  a  growing  boy.  The 


A  Stormy  Time.  37 

steward  must  have  watched  me  some  time  in 
silence  ;  for  my  eyes,  happening  to  float  away  at 
random  in  an  ecstasy  of  pleased  and  vigorous 
mastication,  encountered  him,  standing  not  far 
from  my  side  gazing  at  me  earnestly.  I  dropped 
my  knife  and  fork  in  fear,  as  he  had  talked  to  me 
like  a  rough,  surly  fellow.  His  voice  was  wholly 
changed  now,  when  he  spoke  ;  and  I  noticed  it. 
"  Why,"  he  asked,  "  did  n't  you  tell  me  you  was 
hungry  ? " 

My  only  answer  was  to  let  my  eyes  fall  from 
his  face  to  the  roast  beef  and  potatoes  yet  unde- 
voured  before  me. 

"  There,  eat  as  much  as  you  want,"  said  the 
steward,  in  a  softer  voice  still.  "  Come  to  think," 
he  added,  "  you  need  n't  wash  dishes  :  I  '11  use  you 
in  the  cabin." 

For  some  reason,  I  had  gained  a  friend  in  that 
gruff  fellow.  Three  days  later  he  knocked  that 
same  greasy  pantryman  down  for  abusing  me. 
Indeed*  he  fought  for  me  many  times  afterward 
as  I  would  gladly  fight  for  him  now  if  I  knew 
where  to  find  him,  and  if  I  were  sure  of  the 
success  which  always  attended  him  as  my  cham- 
pion. 


38  Vagabond  Adventures. 

On  this  craft  I  must  have  been  working  for 
general  results,  or  for  the  amateur  delight  of 
forming  one  of  a  steamboat's  crew.  I  do  not  re- 
member that  anything  was  ever  said  about  wages, 
either  by  myself  or  the  steward.  If,  in  fact,  I 
were  called  upon  to-morrow  to  make  out  such  a 
bill  for  my  services  as  should  claim  conscien- 
tiously just  what  I  earned,  I  think  I  should  be 
very  much  embarrassed ;  and  it  would,  too,  I  fancy 
be  a  fine  piece  of  mental  balancing  to  decide 
whether  the  amateur  delight  alluded  to  above  was 
at  all  equal  to  the  utter  sea-sick  misery  I  was 
called  upon  to  ^ndure. 

My  duties  in  the  cabin  were  bounded  only  by 
my  capacity.  I  had  to  help  set  the  table,  wait  on 
it,  and  clear  it  away ;  sweep,  dust,  and  make  my- 
self generally  useful.  I  did  well  enough,  I  sup- 
pose, so  long  as  we  were  in  port ;  but  out  on  the 
lake,  if  the  waves  were  at  all  turbulent,  I  was 
much  worse  than  useless.  It  took  me  longer  to 
get  my  sea-legs  on  than  almost  any  one  I  have 
ever  known.  Some  allowance  was  made  for  me 
the  first  trip ;  I  was  permitted,  that  is,  to  be  as 
miserable  as  I  could  be,  and  take  to  my  berth  as 
often  as  I  liked. 


A  Stormy  Time.  39 

In  the  course  of  time  —  and  it  seemed  a  very 
long  time  —  we  arrived  at  Cleveland,  where  part 
of  bur  freight  and  passengers  were  landed.  No 
sooner  had  the  steamer  touched  the  wharf  than  I 
sprang  ashore,  as  the  best  means  of  curing  my 
nausea.  By  the  time  I  had  reached  what  I  take 
now  to  have  been  Superior  Street,  I  was  congrat- 
ulating myself  on  my  sudden  restoration  to  a  bet- 
ter understanding  with  my  rebellious  stomach ; 
and  for  the  next  hour  I  was  at  liberty,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  an  admired  poet  of  our  day,  to  "lean  and 
loaf  at  my  ease, "  flattening  my  nose  against  shop- 
windows. 

In  connection  with  my  sanitary  stroll  through 
the  pretty  city  of  Cleveland,  I  may  mention  a 
phenomenon  —  both  physical  and  metaphysical  — 
which  occurred  to  me,  with  some  of  the  surprise, 
if  not  the  delight,  of  a  discovery.  And  I  look  up- 
on it  still  as  a  striking  instance  of  the  power,  not 
only  of  association,  but  of  the  mind  over  the  body. 
Happening,  in  a  short,  narrow  street,  on  my  re- 
turn toward  the  wharves,  to  pass  a  sort  of  junk- 
shop  and  second-hand  clothing-store  combined, 
my  nose  became  cognizant  of  a  stale,  tarry,  water- 
logged smell,  at  the  same  moment  that  my  eyes 


4O  Vagabond  Adventures. 

lighted  upon  a  sailor  hat,  shirt,  and  pantaloons 
dangling  from  a  hoop  at  the  door;  and  —  be  it  be- 
lieved or  not  —  I  am  telling  the  truth,  when  I  say 
that  I  became  instantly  as  sea-sick  as  ever ! 

Whether  the  relapse  came  from  the  kelpy  scent 
of  the  shop  and  neighborhood,  or  from  the  sight 
of  the  suit  of  clothes  relict  of  the  mariner,  or 
from  the  mental  and  stomachic  association  of 
both  with  scenes  I  had  just  passed  through  on 
the  lake,  I  cannot  of  course,  at  this  distance  of 
time,  presume  to  determine.  I  recollect,  how- 
ever, I  had  a  droll,  boyish  impression,  for  a  long 
while  afterward,  in  connection  with  those  second- 
hand, sail-cloth  trousers.  There  was,  indeed,  as 
I  recall  them  even  now,  something  strangely  sug- 
gestive of  hopeless  infirmity  about  them.  As 
they  flapped  and  bulged  wearily  in  the  tar-laden 
zephyrs,  the  knees  would  become  full  and,  in  some 
inexplicable  way,  would  give  ghostly  hints  of  the 
knock-kneed  idiosyncrasies  of  the  late  wearer. 
Then  the  whole  garment  would  become  myste- 
riously distended,  as  if  some  poor  mariner  were 
being  hanged  by  the  neck,  and  the  choking  and 
plethora  had  reached  even  to  the  very  ends  of 
his  pantaloons  ;  reminding  me  quite  vividly,  the 


A  Stormy  Time.  41 

while,  of  a  pair  of  piratical  legs  —  which  a  sailor 
in  the  forecastle  of  our  steamer,  the  Diamond, 
had  shown  me  in  the  frontispiece  of  a  very 
greasy  book  —  dangling  pictorially  from  the  gib- 
bet of  the  lamented  Captain  Kidd. 

Well,  what  I  set  out  to  say  is,  that  for  a  long 
time  afterward  I  held  the  juvenile  opinion  that 
those  same  second-hand  sailor  trousers,  big  at 
the  bottom,  and  little  at  the  top,  like  the  churn 
in  the  venerable  riddle,  were  alone  what  made 
me  then  so  suddenly  and  so  mysteriously  sea-sick. 
I  did  not,  however,  think  much  about  it  at  the 
time,  or  of  anything  else,  but  getting  back  with 
all  possible  expedition  to  the  steamer  and  to  bed. 

Sea-sickness,  you  may  have  observed,  is  very 
much  like  first  love.  While  it  lasts,  you  rarely  get 
any  sympathy  from  those  not  affected  like  your- 
self; and  when  it  is  over,  you  are  the  first  to 
laugh  at  it.  And  there  is  always  likely  to  be 
something  ludicrous  about  it  —  in  the  memory ; 
but,  durante  bello,  it  is  serious  enough,  in  all  con- 
science. Now  the  second  voyage  of  our  steamer 
Diamond  was  a  remarkably  calm  one ;  and  I, 
true  to  the  instincts  of  your  convalescent,  whether 


42  Vagabond  Adventures.- 

of  nausea  or  erotomania,  ridiculed  my  previous 
troubles.  But  on  the  third  voyage  the  lake  was 
rougher  than  ever.  I  fought  my  weakness  val- 
iantly ;  yet  it  seemed  a  battle  against  all  visible 
Nature,  —  the  water,  the  sky,  and  the  crazy  old 
steamboat,  to  say  nothing  of  my  own  recalcitrant 
little 'body.  I  was  forced  to  yield. 

I  had,  however,  been  a  sailor  too  long  for  any 
faint  show  of  sympathy.  The  steward,  too,  was 
short  of  help  ;  and  there  was  no  escape  for  me.  I 
was  accordingly  called  out  to  do  duty  at  the  din- 
ner-table, where  I  staggered  about  under  plates 
and  platters  to  the  terror  of  all  immediate  behold- 
ers. I  had  little  or  no  control  of  my  legs  and 
hands  ;  and  my  head,  if  I  retnember  correctly  now, 
was  engaged  in  framing  and  passing  silent  reso- 
lutions of  want  of  confidence  in  my  stomach. 

Having  emptied  a  dish  of  stewed  chicken  into 
the  lap  of  an  uncomplaining  lady-passenger,  who 
was  nearly  as  sick  as  I  was,  but  who  was  ashamed 
to  own  it,  I  planted  my  back  violently  against  the 
side  of  the  cabin,  in  the  inane  endeavor  to  steady 
the  rolling  ship  or  my  rolling  head,  —  I  did  not 
know  or  care  exactly  which.  While  thus  em- 
ployed, I  heard  the  grating  voice  of  the  captain, 


A  Stormy  Time.  43 

who  was,  if  possible,  always  as  ill-natured  as  he 
looked. 

"  Here,  boy  ! "  he  called. 

I  went  to  him,  staggering  and  trembling,  and 
apprehending  all  manner  of  vengeance. 

"  What  are  you  staring  at,  you  lubber  ?  Why 
don't  you  turn  me  a  glass  of  water  ? " 

From  which  comparatively  amiable  speech  of 
•my  commander,  I  was  left  in  doubt  whether  he 
was  aware  of  my  late  exploit  with  the  stewed 
chicken.  I  seized  an  unwieldy  water-pitcher ; 
and,  just  as  I  had  it  well  elevated,  the  boat  gave 
a  perverse  lunge,  and  I  proceeded,  dizzier  than 
ever,  to  pour  the  entire  contents  of  the  jug  into 
the  captain's  ear,  and  down  his  neck.  Everything 
for  a  yard  or  so  around,  excepting  only  his  goblet, 
received  some  share  of  the  water. 

I  did  not  tarry  long  to  observe  the  rage  of  the 
captain  ;  but  what  I  did  see,  and  more  especially 
hear  of  it,  was  certainly  as  intense  and  loud  and 
blasphemous  as  anything  of  the  kind  that  has 
since  come  within  the  range  of  my  perception. 
The  pitcher  broke  on  the  floor  where  I  dropped 
it ;  and  I  fled  back  to  my  berth,  and  covered  up 
my  head. 


44  Vagabond  Advent^tres. 

My  commander  did  not  pursue  me  ;  but  about 
an  hour  afterward  the  steward  came  to  me  with  a 
very  long  face,  as  I  observed  with  the  one  eye 
which  I  uncovered  long  enough  to  ask  him  if  the 
captain  had  seen  me  deposit  the  stewed  chicken 
in  the  lap  of  that  lady.  No  :  I  was  told  the  cap- 
tain had  not  heard  of  that,  but  was  sufficiently 
wroth  about  the  wetting  he  had  received  at  my 
hands ;  and  the  steward  ended  by  saying  that  I- 
would  have  to  go  ashore  at  the  next  landing.  He 
was  very  sorry,  he  assured  me  ;  but  the  captain 
was  inexorable. 

I  hastened  to  inform  my  friend  and  protector 
that  I  would  be  glad  to  set  my  foot  on  any  dry 
land  whatsoever,  and  that  I  never  wanted  to  go  on 
a  steamboat  any  more  ;  for  the  vessel,  now  in  the 
trough  of  the  sea,  was  rolling  and  creaking  more 
violently  every  minute,  and  my  nausea  had  in- 
creased in  proportion. 

The  next  landing,  the  steward  gave  me  to 
understand,  was  Conneaut,  Ohio,  which  was  his 
own  home.  He  comforted  me,  furthermore,  with 
the  assurance  that  his  wife  would  be  down  at  the 
wharf  to  get  the  linen,  which  she  washed  for  the 
steamer  ;  and  that  she  should  take  me  home  with 
her. 


A  Stormy  Time.  45 

The  pier  of  Conneaut,  where  we  finally  arrived, 
was  now  invested  with  absorbing  interest  to  me. 
I  wondered  which  of  the  tanned  faces  that  looked 
up  from  the  dock  belonged  to  my  future  mistress  ; 
and  I  wondered,  too,  which  of  the  weather-beaten 
fishermen's  huts  along  the  shore  —  about  the  only 
habitations  in  sight  —  was  to  be  my  future  home. 
I  hoped  it  was  the  one  with  the  little  boats  before 
it  on  the  beach,  and  the  long  fish-nets  spread  out 
to  dry ;  where  the  white  gulls  seemed  to  make 
their  head-quarters,  wheeling  about  the  little  roof, 
or  sliding  up  against'  the  sky,  or  swooping  the 
surf,  and  skimming  along  the  billows  of  the  lake. 

I  was  thus  musing,  in  grateful  convalescence, 
on  the  upper-deck,  when  the  steward  approached, 
and  pointed  me  out  to  his  wife.  She  was,  as  I 
remember  her,  a  chubby,  black-eyed  little  person, 
with  a  pleasant  voice.  At  her  woman's  question 
as  to  whether  I  had  my  things  all  packed  and 
ready,  I  became  embarrassed  ;  but  the  steward 
helped  me  out  by  answering  for  me,  "  Yes,  he  has 
'em  on  his  back." 

The  knowledge  of  my  forlorn  condition,  and  a 
sudden  choking  sensation  in  the  throat,  came 
upon  the  good  little  woman  at  one  and  the  same 


46  Vagabond  Adventures. 

time,  as  I  was  made  aware  by  an  attempt  to 
speak,  which  she  abandoned,  substituting — very 
much  to  the  lowering  of  my  boyish  pride  —  a  fear- 
less and  vigorous  hugging,  together  with  a  hearty, 
loud-sounding  kiss,  right  before  the  passengers, 
the  greasy  pantryman,  and  others  of  the  crew. 

Then  the  steward's  wife,  without  another  word, 
hurried  me  ashore  into  a  one-horse  wagon,  with 
the  soiled  linen,  and  drove  away  up  to  the  village, 
which  was  a  mile  or  two  from  the  lake. 


CHAPTER    V, 

A  BOY'S   PARADISE. 

NEAR  the  end  of  a  quiet  street  we  alighted 
at  a  little  frame-house,  all  embowered  in 
peach  and  plum  trees.  This  was  the  steward's 
home,  and  soon  was  as  much  mine  as  if  I  held 
the  title-deed.  They  had  no  children,  and  the 
steward's  wife  was  not  long  in  growing  won- 
derfully fond  of  me,  —  so  fond,  indeed,  that  she 
humored  me  in  everything. 

When  tired  of  the  house  and  little  yard,  I 
amused  myself  in  strolling  alone  to  the  lake  and 
taking  amateur  voyages  in  the  fishermen's  boats, 
without  their  permission  ;  and  in  swimming  and 
fishing  and  hunting  clams  in  Conneaut  Creek,  or 
River,  whichever  it  is  called.  My  favorite  bathing- 
place  was  beneath  the  high  bridge  which  the 
curious  reader  can  cross  any  day  on  the  Lake 
Shore  Railroad. 

When  the  steamer  arrived,  the  steward's  wife 


48  Vagabond  Adventures. 

and  I  went  down  to  the  pier,  in  the  one-horse 
wagon,  with  the  clean  clothes  of  the  last  washing, 
and  brought  away  the  money  for  it,  together  with 
a  new  load  of  soiled  linen. 

This  one-horse  equipage,  by  the  way,  must 
have  belonged  to  some  neighbor,  for  I  do  not 
remember  that  we  ever  brought  it  into  requisi- 
tion, except  for  laundry  purposes.  Nor  do  I 
remember 'that  I  ever  imperilled  my  neck,  or  the 
horse's,  with  it  alone,  as  would  surely  have  been 
the  case  if  it  had  been  our  property. 

Our  practice  was,  invariably,  to  spend  the 
money  for  the  last  washing  before  the  next  one 
was  begun  ;  and  this  was  the  routine  to  which 
we  scrupulously  adhered  : 

The  steward's  wife,  namely,  would  use  the 
first  day  after  the  steamer  had  gone  in  baking 
all  manner  of  bread,  pies,  and  cakes ;  enough, 
in  fact,  to  last  us  until  the  good  ship  Diamond 
should  come  round  again.  Then,  on  the  second 
day,  we  would  go  to  the  village  livery-stable,  and 
get  a  horse  and  buggy,  with  which  we  would 
ride  five  miles  out  in  the  country,  and  "visit" 
at  the  farm-house  of  her  father  and  mother. 
Having  thus  exhausted  all  her  earnings,  we 


A  Boys  Paradise.  49 

would  return  home  on  the  third  day,  and  the 
steward's  wife  would  go  very  contentedly  about 
her  washing. 

This  may  not  have  been  the  best  sort  of  econ- 
omy for  a  poor  washerwoman,  but  it  was  cer- 
tainly a  most  delightful  way  for  a  thoughtless  boy 
to  pass  his  time.  Counting  out  an  occasional 
tendency  to  biliousness  consequent  upon  over- 
doses of  the  good  things  of  her  regular  first-day's 
baking,  I  must  say,  the  weeks  I  spent  with  that 
good,  simple-hearted  creature  were  very  happy 
ones  indeed. 

Her  kindness  extended  even  to  the  tattered 
places  of  my  scanty  wardrobe.  Everything  was 
made  whole  and  clean.  She  bought  me,  I.  re- 
member, a  shirt  for  fifty  cents,  and  made  over 
a  pair  of  her  husband's  summer  pantaloons  to 
fit  me  ;  so  that  I  was  not,  as  formerly,  confined 
to  the  house  while  my  solitary  piece  of  linen  was 
in  laundry. 

There  was  only  one  grievous  alloy,  thereafter, 
in  my  complete  happiness,  and  that  was  in  the 
shape  of  some  much  larger  boys  than  myself,  who 
diverted  their  minds  by  whipping  me  whenever 
and  wherever  they  could  lay  hands  on  me.  I 
3  D 


50  Vagabond  Adventures. 

fought  them  at  first,  but  I  always  came  off  beaten; 
and  so  I  gave  it  up,  and  it  is  due  to  the  nimble- 
ness  of  my 'legs,  or  to  the  exceeding  elasticity 
inherent  in  terror,  to  add  that  they  rarely  or 
never  caught  me  after  that.  Still  the  grievance 
was  all  the  same. 

On  one  occasion,  however,  the  steward  stopped 
over  at  home  a  trip,  and,  being  informed  of  the 
persecutions  to  which  I  had  been  subjected,  he 
gave  a  sound  drubbing  to  every  one  of  my  enemies, 
and  threatened  them  with  the  repetition  .of  the 
same  as  often  as  I  should  complain.  I  had  the 
satisfaction  of  witnessing  this  castigation,  which, 
though  somewhat  informal,  — being  administered 
when  each  of  my  foes  was  "down,"  as  I  may  say, 
across  my  champion's  knee,  in  a  species  of 
"  chancery  "  not  yet  introduced,  I  believe,  into  the 
prize  ring, — had,  nevertheless,  the  desired  effect. 
The  peace  was  preserved,  and  I  was  happy. 

But  perfect  happiness  is  short-lived,  after  all. 
It  was  not  many  weeks  later  when  we  were 
startled  in  our  little  home  by  a  call  in  the  interest 
of  my  relatives,  conveying  the  intelligence  that 
my  whereabout  was  known,  and  that  I  should  be 
sent  for  soon. 


A  Boys  Paradise.  51 

Now.  it  happened  that  the  steamer  Diamond 
was  due  at  the  pier  the  afternoon  succeeding 
the  one  on  which  we  had  heard  this  appalling 
piece  of  news.  I  said  nothing  to  my  benefac- 
tress of  my  design,  formed  almost  instantane- 
ously ;  for  I  knew  she  would  not  consent  to  its 
carrying  out.  But,  when  the  steamer  had  left, 
I  was  not  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  fishermen's 
boats  on  the  lake,  or  throwing  stones  at  the  gulls 
along  the  shore,  or  afterward  beneath  the  high 
bridge,  or  in  any  of  my  usual  haunts  in  the 
village. 

I  had,  in  fact,  stowed  myself  away  in  the 
old  Diamond's  forecastle,  where  I  was  not  dis- 
covered till  Conneaut  was  well  out  of  sight.  Un- 
fortunately, my  new  shirt  and  pantaloons  were 
both  in  the  wash  at  the  time;  and  I  have  never 
seen  them  since.  Thus  I  came  away  with  the 
same  well-worn  clothes  and  solitary  piece  of  linen 
in  which  I  had  first  fled  from  Buffalo.  The  five 
coppers  I  still  had  in  my  pocket,  kept,  I  know 
not  by  what  queer  inspiration,  against  future 
needs. 

I  never  heard  from   her  lips  how  much  the 


52  Vagabond  Adventures. 

steward's  wife  grieved  at  my  sudden  disappear- 
ance, for  I  never  saw  the  good  soul  afterward  ; 
but,  from  what  I  have  since  learned,  I  scarcely 
hope  ever  again,  by  anything  that  I  may  do,  or 
that  may  happen  to  me,  to  produce  such  a  void 
in  the  heart  of  any  living  being.  I  had  taken 
the  place,  I  suppose,  in  her  childless  bosom,  of 
that  strongest  and  purest  of  all  affections,  —  the 
mother's  for  her  offspring. 

Several  years  afterward  she  "nearly  killed 
with  kindness"  a  friend  of  mine  —  to  use  the 
language  of  the  friend  herself — who  gave  her 
news  from  me.  I  should  hardly  mention  this 
now,  were  it  not  for  the  sequel,  which  further 
illustrates,  I  think,  though  in  a  sad  way,  the 
real  goodness  and  constancy  of  the  poor  crea- 
ture's heart,  while  going  to  show  at  the  same 
time  what  a  warm  place  was  won  in  it  by  a 
graceless  vagabond. 

Later  in  her  life  some  great  sorrow  —  the 
exact  nature  of  which  I  never  learned  —  un- 
hinged her  intellect;  and  her  insanity  took  the 
mild  form  of  always  expecting  me  back,  the 
same  homeless  urchin,  unchanged  by  the  years. 
It  was,  as  I  have  intimated,  in  the  afternoon 


A  Boys  Paradise.  53 

when  I  left  her ;  and,  until  she  was  moved  from 
that  part  of  the  country  to  an  asylum  where  she 
was  cared  for  in  comfort  till  she  died,  she  used  to 
go  regularly  every  afternoon  to  the  friend  above 
mentioned  and  ask  about  her  "  lost  boy,"  as  she 
called  me. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE    CONTUMELY    OF    CAPTAINS. 

captain  of  the  steamer  Diamond,  never 
-•-  in  the  habit  of  looking  pleased  at  anything, 
did  not  depart  from  his  habit,  but  rather  carried 
it  to  an  unwonted  degree  of  frowning  and  dark- 
ling excess,  when  he  saw  me  at  work  again  about 
the  table,  at  the  next  meal  after  leaving  Conneaut. 
He  said  nothing  to  me,  however,  but,  calling  up 
the  steward,  had  a  long,  stormy  talk  with  him. 

The  steward  in  self-defence  was,  of  course, 
obliged  to  tell  how  I  had  stowed  myself  away  in 
the  forecastle,  which,  I  need  not  say,  did  not 
enhance  the  commander's  opinion  of  me.  What 
that  irate  gentleman  would  have  done  with  me  — 
whether  he  would  not  have  thrown  me  bodily 
into  the  lake  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  earnest 
deprecation  of  the  steward  —  is  even  yet,  in  quiet, 
reflective  moments,  an  interesting  problem  to  my 
mind. 


The  Contumely  of  Captains.        55 

At  last  the  captain's  unwilling  consent  was 
obtained  to  take  me  back  to  Buffalo,  where,  as 
my  intercessor  said,  I  had  friends.  It  happened 
that  the  steamer  was  bound  up  the  lake  to  To- 
ledo, where,  also,  I  had  relatives,  —  a  fact  which  I 
did  not  make  known  to  the  steward.  I  was  now 
compassed  about,  it  will  be  seen,  by  prospects  of 
capture  on  every  hand.  I  had  my  reasons,  never- 
theless, for  wishing  to  be  left  at  Buffalo  instead 
of  Toledo.  The  latter  city  was  so  small  that  my 
relatives  would  easily  lay  hold  of  me  there  ;  and 
the  former,  being  not  only  a  larger  city,  but  so 
much  farther  away,  I  should  stand  a  much  better 
chance  of  concealment,  and,  what  was  of  almost 
equal  importance,  I  should  be  sure  of  an  addi- 
tional week's  board  before  the  steamer  reached 
there. 

At  Toledo,  therefore,  I  scarcely  went  ashore  at 
all.  During  the  return  trip  to  Buffalo  my  mind 
was  exceeding  busy  with  daring  and  mighty 
schemes  of  escape  from  the  steward,  whom  cir- 
cumstances had  now  metamorphosed  into  a  walk- 
ing terror  to  me.  That  honest  fellow  had  con- 
fided to  me  that  he  considered  it  his  duty,  and  for 
my  interests,  to  have  an  interview  with  the  people 


56  Vagabond  Adventures. 

from  whom  I  had  fled,  and  to  do  I  know  not  what 
other  appalling  things  toward  providing  me  with 
a  suitable,  permanent  home. 

I  did  not,  however,  think  it  prudent  to  express 
my  demurrer  at  his  prospective  proceedings, 
choosing  secretly  to  trust  the  hope  of  sustaining 
it  rather  to  my  legs  than  to  my  eloquence.  Ac- 
cordingly, when  we  had  arrived  at  Buffalo,  I 
watched  my  opportunities,  and,  seizing  the  right 
moment,  fled  precipitately  up  the  docks,  unob- 
served by  my  well-meaning,  self-imposed  guar- 
dian. 

Two  hours  subsequently,  deeming  myself  safe, 
I  walked  boldly  on  board  of  the  old  steamer  Baltic. 
Here,  by  a  wonderful  freak  of  fortune,  it  was  not 
ten  minutes  till  I  had  "  shipped  "  as  cabin-boy,  at 
the  marvellous  salary  of  ten  dollars  a  month. 
Surely,  I  have  never  felt  so  rich  or  independent 
since.  I  went  to  work  with  a  will,  inspired  to 
undertake  anything,  in  any  weather,  by  a  calm 
sense  of  security,  and  by  the  princely  guerdon 
which  loomed  high  in  my  imagination  at  the 
end  of  the  month.  In  the  course  of  time,  too, 
.  I  am  happy  to  say  here  incidentally,  I  over- 


The  Contumely  of  Captains.         57 

came  completely  my  remarkable  tendency  to  sea- 
sickness. 

The  Baltic,  then  having  seen  her  best  days, 
did  not  belong  to  any  regular  line,  but  went  roll- 
ing and  creaking  about  on  roaming  commissions 
for  freight  and  passengers  all  over  the  lakes. 
Up  to  the  time  of  the  inglorious  denouement  in 
which  my  life  as  one  of  her  crew  ended,  I  can 
remember  nothing  of  moment  which  happened, 
except  that  the  sense  of  my  own  importance  and 
of  my  accumulating  wealth  grew  daily  in  strict 
proportion  ;  and  that  her  captain  was  a  perpet- 
ual mountain  to  me,  bearing  down  very  hard  on 
my  expansive  spirit,  but  never  quite  crushing  it. 

With  a  few  exceptions,  indeed,  my  experiences 
with  captains  were  strikingly  disagreeable,  but 
not,  I  think,  peculiar.  From  actual  brutality,  or 
a  mistaken  sense  of  duty,  —  applying  especially 
to  boys  and  common  sailors,  —  your  ordinary  cap- 
tain, on  lake  or  ocean,  has  often  seemed  to  me,  in 
some  respects,  less  human  than  the  ship  over 
which  he  tyrannizes.  With  regard  to  this  cold 
autocrat  of  the  venerable  steamer  Baltic  I  rec- 
ollect a  queer,  boyish  fancy  I  entertained,  I  for- 
get whether  in  earnest  or  in  sportive  retribution ; 
3* 


58  Vagabond  Adventures. 

namely,  that  the  Nor'westers  had  not  only  piled 
up  the  breakers  which  threatened  continually  in 
the  hard,  wrinkled  folds  and  lines  of  his  face,  but 
had  also  blown  the  warmth,  and,  in  a  word,  all 
the  heart  out  of  his  voice  and  manner. 

As  the  month  drew  near  its  close,  however, 
and  the  ten  dollars  earned  by  my  own  hands 
were  soon  to  be  mine,  the  contumely  of  my  com- 
mander had  little  weight  against  the  buoyancy 
and  growing  independence  of  my  spirit.  I  had 
been  in  the  Baltic  just  three  weeks  and  four  days 
on  the  eventful  morning  when  she  was  to  leave 
Toledo.  It  had  been  my  habit,  "once  a  week,  to 
wash  my  only  shirt  in  the  pantry  and  to  wait  about 
the  kitchen  till  it  dried,  with  my  coat  buttoned 
up  to  my  chin.  Now,  on  this  same  morning,  I 
had  just  issued  from  the  latter  place  with  my 
clean  shirt  in  my  hand,  when  the  captain  told  me 
to  do  something,  —  I  forget  what.  I  assured  him 
I  would  as  soon  as  I  could  put  on  my  shirt.  He 
told  me  to  do  it  right  away,  at  the  same  time 
coupling  me  and  my  garment  blasphemously  to- 
gether, and  consigning  us,  figuratively,  to  a  port 
where,  for  aught  I  know,  there  may  be  many  col- 
lectors but  no  custom-houses. 


The  Contumely  of  Captains.         59 

.1  gave  the  captain  to  understand,  still  more 
bluntly,  that  I  would  do  nothing  till  I  had  made 
my  toilet ;  and,  inspired  by  a  memory  of  former 
wrongs,  as  well  as  a  consciousness  of  prospective 
opulence,  I  used  to  my  superior  officer  other  lan- 
guage of  a  saucy  and  independent  kind.  Where- 
upon the  captain,  in  sailor  phrase,  "  tacked "  for 
me,  and  I  "  tacked "  for  the  shore.  Here,  then, 
I  demanded  my  pay  ;  but  the  enraged  command- 
er solemnly  averred  that  he  would  see  me  first 
in  that  tropical  port  just  alluded  to,  and  then 
I  should  never  have  a  cent. 

Shortly  after,  the  boat  pushed  off  into  the 
stream.  A  sympathizing  friend  threw  me  a  paper 
of  crackers  from  the  pantry  on  the  upper  deck ; 
and,  as  the  Baltic  got  under  way,  there  I  stood  on 
the  wharf,  with  my  paper  of  crackers  in  one  hand, 
and  my  only  shirt  in  the  other,  clamoring  for  my 
wages. 

I  stood  leaning  against  the  splintered  pile, 
which  had  been  one  of  her  hitching-posts,  and 
watched  the  Baltic  as  she  faded  slowly  out  of 
sight.  My  courage  seemed  to  fade  with  her.  It 
was  not  the  loss  of  my  place  and  probably  of  my 


60  Vagabond  Adventures. 

dinner  that  crushed  me,  but  —  after  so  many 
wealthy  dreams  —  this  utter  financial  ruin ! 
What  were  my  five  coppers,  still  jingling  loosely 
in  my  pocket,  to  the  dollars  I  had  lost,  or  to  the 
combined  capital  of  my  relatives  in  that  very 
city  ?  The  contest  was  plainly  hopeless.  For  as 
much  as  a  half-hour  I  considered  myself  delivered 
bound  into  the  hands  of  my  pursuers.  Indeed, 
the  dock  on  which  I  was  making  this  mental 
soliloquy  happened  to  be  but  a  short  distance 
from  the  warehouse  of  an  uncle  of  mine,  then  a 
commission-merchant  and  ship-owner  in  Toledo. 
At  last,  I  betook  myself  despondently  to  a 
neighboring  shed  and  donned  my  shirt,  and  then, 
as  under  some  desperate  spell,  walked  straight 
toward  my  uncle's  office.  I  crossed  the  thresh- 
old and  saw  him  in  conversation  with  some  gen- 
tlemen. While  waiting  till  he  should  notice  me, 
I  beheld,  through  the  office  window,  the  little 
steamer  Arrow,  almost  ready  to  start  for  Detroit. 
I  knew  that  the  Baltic  was  also  going  to  Detroit, 
and  thought  that  I  might  possibly  get  my  money 
if  I  followed  her  thither.  Only  those  unfortunate 
persons  who  have  been  suddenly  prevented  from 
committing  suicide  when  in  the  very  act  will 


The  Contiimely  of  Captains.         61 

thoroughly  understand,  I  think,  the  feeling  with 
which  I  hailed  this  thought.  Instantly  my  com- 
prehensive vow  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
relatives  flashed  across  my  mind. 

Seeing  that  my  uncle  had  not  yet  observed  me, 
I  turned  quickly  on  my  heel,  and  made  hastily  for 
the  dock  of  the  steamer  Arrow.  I  concealed  my- 
self on  board  of  her  till  she  was  under  way,  when, 
making  my  case  known  to  the  steward,  I  was 
allowed  to  work  my  passage  in  the  cabin'  to 
Detroit. 

It  was  that  season  when,  as  many  dwellers  by 
the  Western  lakes  will  remember,  the  Arrow  was 
the  fastest  boat  on  those  waters.  We  passed  the 
other  steamer  somewhere  off  Monroe  lighthouse  ; 
and  on  the  same  afternoon,  therefore,  as  the  old 
Baltic  came  up  to  the  wharf  at  Detroit,  there  I 
stood  before  the  astonished  eyes  of  her  captain, 
again  clamoring  for  my  wages,  —  with  this  differ- 
ence only,  that  my  shirt  was  now  on  my  back, 
and  my  crackers  carefully  stowed  away  in  my 
pocket  with  my  five  coppers. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

ALMOST   A   TRAGEDY.  . 

AS  soon  as  the  Baltic  was  made  fast,  and 
the  captain  had  sufficiently  recovered  from 
his  astonishment,  he  stalked  toward  me,  denoun- 
cing vengeance.  I  took  to  my  heels  as  soon  as  he 
reached  the  wharf.  Finding  that  he  could  not 
catch  me,  he  stopped,  shook  his  fist,  and  swore  he 
would  arrest  me  if  he  saw  or  heard  anything 
more  of  me.  I,  of  course,  knew  nothing  of  the 
law  but  its  terrors,  and,  though  I  really  had  the 
better  side  in  the  case,  gave  the  matter  up. 

It  may  have  been  that  the  joy  to  be  in  a 
strange  city,  out  of  the  way  of  capture,  helped  me 
materially,  but  it  seems  a  little  remarkable  now 
how  soon  this  mighty  disappointment  and  defeat 
vanished  wholly  from  my  thoughts.  I  cannot 
remember  that  the  circumstance  ever  crossed  my 
mind  again  till  I  was  called  upon,  months  subse- 
quently, to  recount  my  adventures  to  admiring 
school-fellows. 


Almost  a   Tragedy.  63 

It  could  not,  I  am  ,sure,  have  been  twenty 
minutes  after  my  Parthian  contest  with  the  irate 
captain  —  for,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  I  shot 
him  a  scathing  epithet  or  so  in  my  flight  — 
when  I  was  amusing  myself  after  the  manner  of 
the  "light  and  heavy  balancer,"  rolling  myself 
about  upon  the  tops  of  some  white-fish  barrels, 
at  a  neighboring  dock,  as  contented  and  happy 
as  a  thoughtless  boy  only  can  be. 

Tied  to  this  dock  was  a  little  sloop-rigged 
scow,  used  in  bringing  sand  from  Hog  Isl- 
and in  the  Detroit  River.  There  was  a  small 
boat,  with  a  solitary  oar  and  scull-hole  belong- 
ing to  this  sand-scow,  tugging  lazily  at  the  rope 
by  which  it  was  attached,  as  it  floated  dreamily 
astern  in  the  current.  A  youngish  fellow,  with 
a  good-natured  face,  was  engaged  in  unloading 
the  larger  craft  when  I  espied  the  smaller  one. 

Now,  if  there  was  any  one  thing  in  which  much 
practice  and  a  boundless  love  had  lent  me  any 
degree  of  skill,  it  was  risking  my  life  in  amateur 
navigation.  I  need  scarcely  tell  you,  therefore, 
how  I  ceased  my  acrobatics  with  the  white-fish 
barrels,  and  came  and  gazed  wistfully  at  that  lit- 
tle boat ;  how  I  varied  this  employment  by  star- 


64  Vagabond  Adventures. 

ing  inquiringly  into  the  mild  face  of  that  enviable 
young  man  who  had  control  of  its  destinies  ;  how, 
when  he  paused  in  his  work  to  regard  me  in  turn, 
I  thrust  my  hands  unconcernedly  into  my  pock- 
ets, and  looked  studiously  away  from  him  and  the 
little  boat,  at  the  far  windings  of  the  broad  river  ; 
how,  when  he  had  resumed  his  work,  my  eyes  also 
resumed  their  longing  pilgrimage  from  the  little 
boat  to  his  face  ;  and  how,  having  repeated  this 
process  several  times,  my  mind  tugging  fitfully 
and  dreamily  at  its  purpose,  as  the  little  boat  at 
its  rope,  I. finally  turned  and  asked,  in  an  abrupt 
voice,  for  the  loan  of  the  one-oared  craft. 

The  young  man  was  startled  into  a  smile,  per- 
haps of  sheer  good-nature,  and  perhaps  of  pleased 
surprise  at  so  brief  a  petition  overtoppled  by  so 
lengthy  an  enacted  preamble.  Certainly,  he  said, 
I  might  take  his  little  boat,  and  I  embarked. 

Pushing  boldly  into  the  stream,  which  runs 
there  three  or  four  miles  an  hour,  I  sculled  vigor- 
ously for  the  Canadian  shore.  Even  at  this  early 
period,  I  may  remark,  I  had  an  overpowering  de- 
sire to  visit  foreign  lands  ;  and  I  resolved  to  take 
that  opportune  occasion  to  go  abroad.  Those 
most  familiar  with  the  swift,  deep  river  will  best 


Almost  a  Tragedy.  65 

understand  that  the  probability  of  my  reaching 
the  British  shore  was  only  less  than  the  possibil- 
ity of  my  ever  getting  back  again  ;  and  that  the 
project,  under  the  circumstances,  was  utterly  mad 
and  perilous. 

I  sculled  out  well  toward  the  middle  of  the 
stream,  exulting,  boy-like,  in  the  wild  freedom 
of  the  voyage  ;  heading  diagonally  against  the 
current,  but,  otherwise,  taking  very  little  heed 
whither  the  prow  of  my  boat  was  pointing.  Sud- 
denly I  noticed  a  commotion  on  the  shor£  I  had 
left,  and  looked  curiously  among  the  people 
there  for  the  cause.  Every  one  seemed  now 
pointing  and  hallooing  at  me.  It  must  be,  I  con- 
cluded, they  were  applauding  my  skill  and  dar- 
ing ;  and,  thus  encouraged,  I  sculled  more  lustily 
than  ever,  with  my  back  still  toward  the  bow  of 
my  boat. 

Not  many  moments  afterward  I  heard,  rising 
above  the  other  noises  of  the  busy  life  around 
and  on  the  river,  a  queer,  rumbling  sound  in  the 
water  ahead  of  me.  I  turned  to  find  a  large 
steamboat  making  directly  toward  me,  under  full 
speed,  and  not  more  than  two  or  three  rods  away. 
I  dropped  my  oar  and  stood  paralyzed  with  the 


66  Vagabond  Adventures. 

sudden  danger  and  the  utter  hopelessness  of 
escape. 

The  people  on  the  steamer  seemed  nearly 
as  terrified  as  myself,  for  they  shouted  and 
waved  their  hands  and  arms  in  the  wildest  man- 
ner. The  bow  of  the  large  vessel  just  grazed 
that  of  my  little  one  when  the  great  paddle- 
wheels  were  stopped.  The  swell  caused  by  the 
motion  of  the  steamer  struck  the  small  craft  and 
threw  it  clear  of  the  wheel ;  and  the  Niagara,  for 
that  was  her  name,  passed  by  on  her  voyage. 

If  the  wheel  had  been  stopped  twenty  seconds 
later,  my  boat  and  myself  would  most  certainly 
have  been  drawn  into  it,  and  circumstances  over 
which  I  could  have  had  no  control  would,  in  all 
probability,  have  prevented  me  from  writing  out 
this  faithful  account  of  my  adventures. 

I  now  put  my  boat  about  and  sculled  for  shore, 
abandoning  my  scheme  of  foreign  travel  and  ex- 
ploration. The  long  and  difficult  struggle  with 
the  current  which  ensued  should  have  been 
enough,  without  the  terrible  fright  I  had  "experi- 
enced, to  bring  me,  I  think,  to  a  realizing  sense 
of  the  wildness  and  madness  of  my  undertaking. 
Finally  reaching  the  dock  and  malting  the  yawl 


Almost  a   Tragedy.  67 

fast  to  the  sand-scow,  I  exchanged  a  very  sheep- 
ish sort  of  smile  for  the  good-humored  or  sym- 
pathetic one  of  the  young  man,  her  captain,  and 
strolled  off  leisurely  over  the  wharf,  out  of  the 
way  of  the  curious  people  who  had  been  the  wit- 
nesses of  my  exploit. 

In  a  remarkably  short  time  thereafter  I  was 
engaged  again  in  rolling  myself  about  on  the  top 
of  the  white-fish  barrels  ;  thinking  no  more  of  my 
hairbreadth  escape,  or  of  what  was  to  become  of 
me  in  the  immediate  future.  Twenty  minutes,  as 
nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  were  about  as  long  as 
any  direst  misfortune,  at  that  period,  could  cloud 
the  brightness  of  my  young  hope.  This  utter 
recklessness  I  can  scarcely  understand  now.  It 
requires,  I  suppose,  more  years  and  experience 
than  I  had  then  to  learn  the  knack  of  despairing. 

At  least,  I  know  I  was  in  the  full  delight  of 
my  first  freedom,  and,  in  all  these  boyish  wan- 
derings, the  fact  that  I  was  in  need  of  a  meal 
or  a  night's  lodging  would  occur  to  me,  almost 
always,  as  a  sudden  inspiration,  and  only  at  the 
usual  hour  for  the  meal  or  for  going  to  bed. 
The  joy  of  my  solitary,  Robinson-Crusoe  life,  on 


68  Vagabond  Adventures. 

the  wharves  and  among  the  white-fish  barrels, 
was  so  strong  upon  me  that  I  suffered  much  less 
than  would  at  first  be  imagined  from  the  hunger 
which  sometimes  filled  the  long  intervals  between 
one  meal  and  the  next. 

I  have  just  used  the  words  "  solitary  life,"  and 
I  have  used  them  advisedly  ;  for  I  can  remember 
only  one  juvenile  friend  whom  I  ever  picked  up 
as  a  companion  in  my  vagrancy,  and  that  was  an 
urchin  of  Irish  descent.  We  met  on  the  wharf, 
at  Detroit,  if  my  memory  does  not  fail  me,  some 
days  after  the  events  just  chronicled.  He  was  the 
first  and  last  whom  I  took  into  my  boyish  confi- 
dence, for  the  companionship  was  not  harmonious, 
and  ended  in  the  disaster  of  a  bloody  nose,  which 
he  inflicted  on  me  at  parting.  This,  with  the 
black  eye  which  I  bestowed  in  turn  upon  him, 
was,  I  believe,  the  only  ceremony  observed  on  the 
occasion  of  our  mutual  leave-taking. 

Toward  evening  of  the  day  of  my  narrow  escape 
in  the  yawl  of  the  sand-scow,  I  drew  from  my 
pocket  the  crackers  thrown  to  me  that  morning, 
at  Toledo,  from  the  pantry  of  the  Baltic,  and 
seated  myself  on  the  wharf  overlooking  the  clear 


Almost  a  Tragedy.  69 

river  to-  eat  them,  feeding  the  minnows  with  the 

• 

crumbs.  When  it  began  to  be  dark,  it  suddenly 
occurred  to  me  that  I  had  no  place  to  sleep.  I  am 
sure  that  up  to  that  moment  the  subject  of  my 
prospective  lodgings  had  not  crossed  my  mind. 
I  arose,  and,  brushing  the  last  fragments  of  my 
crackers  down  to  my  fellow- vagabonds,  the  min- 
nows, I  walked  toward  the  place  where  the  sand- 
scow  was  moored. 

I  remembered  now  the  good-natured  face  of 
the  young  fellow  who  had  so  willingly  loaned  me 
his  small  boat  and  never  scolded  me  for  the  peril 
to  which  I  had  exposed  it,  as  well  as  myself. 
Arrived  in  the  little  cabin  of  the  scow,  I  found 
him  already  retired.  I  had  conscientious  scruples 
about  begging,  and  imagined  I  was  doing  nothing 
of  the  kind  when  I  made  the  simple  affirmative 
statement  of  my  case.  Indeed,  I  would  not  have 
had  time  to  append  any  request  to  my  first  sen- 
tence, for  the  young  man,  in  his  prompt  kindness, 
told  me,  as  soon  as  he  had  heard  I  had  no  lodging 
of  my  own,  that  I  was  welcome  to  share  his, 
making  for  me,  while  he  spoke,  a  place  on  the 
loose  hay  which  formed  his  bed. 

A  solitary  pillow-case  of  coarse  sheeting,  stuffed 


7<D  Vagabond  Adventures. 

* 

with  hay,  was  the  only  thing  like  bedding  discov- 
erable. Here  I  threw  myself  without  undressing 
and  tried  to  sleep ;  but  there  were  more  lodgers 
with  us,  bred,  I  suppose,  by  the  sand,  than  even 
the  good-hearted  fellow  would  have  willingly 
accommodated,  — that  is,  if  he  felt  them  as  I  did. 
Before  morning,  however,  youth  and  fatigue  got 
the  better  of  them,  and  I  slept  soundly. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

TAKEN    PRISONER. 

A  RISING  refreshed,  I  sallied  forth  early  on 
•**•  the  wharf  to  amuse  myself.  In  the  course 
of  an  hour  it  occurred  to  me  suddenly  —  out  of  no 
more  previous  thought  or  care  about  the  matter 
than  I  had  had  the  night  before  on  the  subject 
of  a  lodging  —  that  I  had  had  no  breakfast,  and 
could  not  say  exactly  where  I  was  going  to  get 
any. 

The  good-natured  face  of  my  late  bedfellow 
again  suggested  itself  to  my  mind,  and  I  returned 
to  the  sand-scow.  There  he  was  in  the  little  coop 
of  a  cabin,  just  partaking  of  his  morning  meal, 
which  consisted  of  a  small  baker's  loaf  and  a  tea- 
cup of  molasses.  Still  humoring  my  scruples  as 
to  direct  begging,  I  gave  him  to  understand,  af- 
firmatively, that  I  did  not  know  where  to  get  my 
breakfast. 

Without  uttering  a  word,  the  good  fellow  broke 


72  Vagabond  Adventures. 

his  loaf  in  two  and  gave  me  half.  In  fact,  I  can- 
not recollect  that  he  ever  asked  me  any  questions  ; 
if  he  did,  they  were  of  such  a  kindly  nature  as  not 
in  any  way  to  suggest  the  ignominious  close  of 
my  free  career  by  capture,  and  that  is  why,  I 
suppose,  I  have  forgotten  them.  We  dipped  our 
bread  by  turns  into  the  teacup  of  molasses  very 
amicably,  and  took  alternate  draughts  of  the  pure 
river  water  from  the  same  tin  dipper. 

Even  now  as  I  write  I  can  see  again  the  strange 
light  in  his  honest  eyes,  just  behind  the  surprise 
with  which  they  regarded  me,  when,  our  simple 
meal  over,  I  drew  slowly  from  my  pocket  my  five 
copper  cents,  and  placed  them  in  his  hand.  Of 
course,  he  would  not  take  them.  It  was,  no 
doubt,  because  they  were  my  entire  wealth  that 
I  straightway  received  the  impression  that  he 
thought  them  too  much  for  his  somewhat  meagre 
hotel  accommodations,  and  so  I  recalled  to  his 
memory  that  he  had  also  loaned  me  his  small  boat 
the  afternoon  before. 

"Never  mind,  never  mind,"  he  said  ;  "put  your 
money  away.  You  can  take  the  small  boat  again 
if  you  want  to." 

These  were   his  exact  words;  and  there  was 


Taken  Prisoner.  73 

more  true  feeling  in  the  way  he  said  them  than 
would  go  to  make  up  many  a  longer  speech  I 
have  since  heard,  in  the  pathos  of  melodrama, 
where  the  hero  has  magnanimously  refused  vast 
estates  and  lacs  of  rupees.  ( If  the  reader  will 
excuse  the  parenthesis,  I  should  like  to  be  allowed 
to  say,  right  here,  God  bless  that  young  fellow 
—  or  middle-aged  fellow  now  —  wherever  he  is  ! ) 

Whether  a  sudden  apprehension  of  future  and 
direr  exigencies,  or  a  gleam  of  my  usual  delight  in 
small  boats,  or  both  together,  flashed  across  my 
mind  at  that  moment,  I  am  not  now  prepared  to 
state  ;  but  I  remember  I  did  put  my  money  away, 
and,  climbing  down  again  into  the  little  yawl, 
amused  myself  by  imperilling  my  life  once  more 
in  the  swift  current.  This  time,  however,  I  ven- 
tured merely  on  short  coasting  voyages  around 
the  docks.  At  least,  I  had  not  yet  come  to  a 
decision  about  the  feasibility  of  taking  in  some- 
thing foreign  in  my  way,  being  in  the  very  act  of 
casting  a  pair  of  longing  eyes  at  the  Canadian 
shore,  when  I  was  hailed  by  my  friend  of  the 
sand-scow,  and  requested  to  bring  the  boat  to 
land. 

A  favorable  breeze  had .  sprung  up,  and  the 
4 


74  Vagabond  Adventures. 

scow,  now  discharged  of  her  sand,  took  her  depart- 
ure for  a  new  load.  I  stood  on  the  wharf  and 
waved  her  adieu ;  and  that  was  the  last  I  ever 
saw  of  her,  or  of  the  noble  fellow  who  united  in 
his  own  person  her  captain,  mates,  and  crew. 

I  may  have  felt  a  little  more  alone  in  the  world 
now,  for  I  remember  I  did  not  go  back  to  my 
jolly  play-fellows,  the  white-fish  barrels,  but 
boarded  divers  steamboats  instead,  in  quest  of 
work.  I  received  the  same  prompt  answer  from 
all.  They  did  not  want  me.  As  will  be  supposed, 
my  one  suit  of  clothes  was  by  this  time  beginning 
to  show  marks  of  the  service  it  had  done  among 
the  greasy  platters  of  pantries  and  cabins.  This 
fact,  probably,  was  the  greatest  barrier  to  my  suc- 
cess, and  the  cause,  too,  of  most  of  the  rough  lan- 
guage I  received  in  answer  to  my  applications. 

Toward  night  I  became  desperately  hungry, 
for,  it  will  be  remembered,  my  last  warm  meal  was 
the  dinner  of  the  day  before  eaten  upon  the  little 
steamer  Arrow,  on  the  way  from  Toledo.  Weary 
with  repeated  refusals  from  steward  after  steward, 
I  went  boldly  at  last  on  board  of  the  steamer 
Pacific  and  inquired  for  the  captain. 


Taken  Prisoner.  75 

It  was  straightway  demanded  of  me  what  such 
a  beggar  as  I  wanted  of  the  captain.  I  resented 
the  term  "  beggar "  immediately :  I  purposed  to 
work  for  what  I  got ;  I  had  money,  if  it  came  to 
that,  in  proof  of  which  I  jingled  defiantly  the 
five  pennies  in  my  pocket.  No  ;  I  was  no  beg- 
gar, but  I  must  see  the  captain. 

Carrying  my  point,  finally,  I  was  led  to  the 
room  of  the  commander,  whom  I  found  to  be  a 
short,  red-faced  man  with  a  voice  like  a  nor'- 
wester.  He  was  leaning  back  on  a  camp-chair, 
with  his  feet  in  a  berth,  and  smoking  his  after- 
supper  cigar.  To  his  gruff  "What  do  you  want 
with  me?"  I  replied  meekly  that  I  desired  to 
wash  dishes  or  do  anything  for  something  to  eat, 
that  I  had  had  nothing  but  a  few  crackers  and 
some  bread  and  molasses  in  thirty-six  hours,  that 
I  had  applied  to  his  steward  that  afternoon  and 
had  been  refused,  and  that  I  Xvas  forced  finally  to 
come  to  him  hungry  and  wanting  work. 

"What's  your  name?"  demanded  the  captain; 
"and  who  are  you,  and  where  do  you  come 
from?" 

I  answered  the  first  part  of  his  question,  but 
he  noticed  I  hesitated  after  that.  He  gave  me 


76  Vagabond  Adventures. 

laconically  to  understand  that  I  must  tell  him 
who  I  was,  or  starve  for  all  of  him.  I  was  forced 
to  comply  ;  that  is,  saying  nothing  about  Buffalo, 
I  mentioned  my  uncle,  the  ship-owner  in  To- 
ledo. 

This  was  a  fatal  mistake,  as  I  learned  very 
soon  to  my  sorrow.  The  captain's  eye  became  sud- 
denly and  maliciously  bright,  and  his  face  redder 
than  ever.  For  as  many  as  ten  awful  seconds  he 
mangled  his  cigar  fiercely  and  silently  between 
his  teeth.  Then  there  proceeded  from  his 
mouth,  in  addition  to  the  smoke  he  had  swal- 
lowed in  his  wrath,  a  terrible  volley  of  oaths  and 
curses,  of  which  my  uncle's  heart  and  eyes  were ' 
the  objects. 

This  captain,  as  came  to  my  knowledge  after- 
ward, had  been  discharged  from  the  employ  of 
my  uncle  for  some  shortcoming  or  other ;  and 
he  now  proposed,  it  seems,  to  take  his  revenge. 
He  sent  hastily  for  one  of  the  cabin-waiters,  and 
ordered  him,  in  my  hearing,  to  take  me  to  a  state- 
room, give  me  a  light  supper,  and  then  lock  me 
in. 

"  I  'm  goin',"  said  the  captain,  —  and  how  well  I 
remember  his  words,  —  "  I  'm  goin'  to  take  him  to 


Taken  Prisoner.  77 

the  House  of  Vagrancy  in  the  mornin' ;  and  then 
write  to  that  old  villain,  his  uncle,  to  come  and 
take  him  out."  The  captain  furthermore  told  the 
waiter  to  "  bear  a  hand "  and  keep  me  safe, 
till  he  should  call  for  me  the  next  morning.  He 
always  thought,  and  now  he  was  sure,  he  would 
get  even  with  that  uncle  of  mine,  whose  pride  he 
was  going  to  take  down ;  and  I  was  borne  away 
through  another  deluge  of  the  captain's  oaths. 

Of  course  the  thought  was  very  wrong,  com- 
prehending as  it  did  many  innocent  and  well- 
meaning  people,  but  it  seemed  to  me  then,  in 
that  brief  moment  of  despair,  that  all  my  troubles 
sprang  from  the  fact  that  I  was  so  unfortunate  as 
to  have  wealthy  relatives.  They  were  the  first 
and  last  cause  of  all  my  grief.  The  earth,  I  felt 
sure,  was  not  broad  enough  to  escape  them  in. 
Among  the  peach  and  plum  trees  of  Conneaut, 
or  in  the  jungle  of  the  crowded  shipping  at  De- 
troit, the  far-reaching  fate  was  upon  me.  Though 
my  small  body  was  disguised  in  rags,  still  my  own 
hunger  wrought  and  spoke  in  the  interests  of 
those  from  whom  it  appeared  hopeless  to  flee. 
And,  more  on  their  account  than  mine,  I  was 


78  Vagabond  Adventures. 

now  on  my  way  to  that  place  of  unknown  terror, 
the  House  of  Vagrancy. 

The  captain's  room  was 'on  the  main  deck,  and 
the  state-room  to  which  I  was  to  be  conducted 
was  on  the  deck  above.  I  was  so  terrified,  or  so 
small,  that  my  jailer,  the  waiter,  thought  it  safe, 
as  well  as  more  convenient,  to  release  his  hold  of 
my  collar,  and  allow  me  to  precede  him  up  the 
stairs. 

Now  there  was  another  companion-way  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  steamer,  corresponding  to 
that  up  which  we  were  to  go ;  and  as  soon  as  we 
had  attained  the  middle  of  the  upper  cabin  I 
sprang  out  of  the  reach  of  my  conductor  and 
down  the  opposite  stairs  at  about  three  jumps. 
I  fled  to  the  shore  and  up  the  docks  with  all 
the  speed  that  my  deathly  terror  lent  me. 

I  could  hear  my  pursuer  after  me,  but  it  was 
already  dark,  and  I  could  hardly  have  seen  him 
if  I  had  dared  to  look  around.  I  succeeded  in 
reaching  one  of  the  vast  piles*  of  coal  which  the 
good  people  of  Detroit  will  remember  as  standing 
formerly  on  the  wharf  of  the  Michigan  Central 
steamers.  Here  I  concealed  mysel£ 


Taken  Prisoner.  79 

It  was  probably  a  half-hour  before  my  jailer 
gave  up  the  search,  but  it  seemed  four  hours  at 
least  to  me  then.  Twice  he  passed  very  near  my 
hiding-place,  and,  I  recollect,  I  was  afraid  lest  he 
should  hear  the  noise  of  my  heart-beats ;  they 
sounded  so  terribly  loud  in  my  frightened  ears. 
I  heard  him,  at  last,  returning  to  the  steamer,  as 
I  had  reason  to  think,  for  lights  and  people  to  aid 
him. 

Then  I  stole  away  noiselessly  up  toward  the 
town,  keeping  a  large  coal-pile  studiously  between 
me  and  the  place  where  my  pursuer  had  disap- 
peared ;  until,  turning  a  corner  I  took  a  side- 
street  which  led  me,  as  I  supposed,  into  the 
heart  of  the  city.  What,  therefore,  was  my 
horror  when,  after  walking  for  about  ten  min- 
utes, in  this  and  other  crooked  thoroughfares, 
I  again  found  myself  suddenly  on  the  lower 
end  of  the  wharf  where  lay  the  steamer  Pacific 
and  her  dreadful  captain  !* 

Once  more  I  took  to  my  heels,  and  this  time 
succeeded  in  finding  a  street  which  led  me,  with- 
out further  mishap,  into  one  of  the  Avenues. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

SQUALOR. 

\T  TENDERING  about  for  what  seemed  a 
^  *  long  while,  turning  from  one  thorough- 
fare into  another,  so  as  to  make  pursuit  uncertain, 
it  finally  crossed  my  mind  that  it  was  past  my 
bedtime.  Fear  had  driven  away  my  hunger  so 
completely  that  I  thought  no  more  of  it  till  the 
next  day. 

Brushing  and  rubbing  as  much  of  the  coal- 
dust  from  my  clothes  as  I  could,  I  now  walked 
boldly  up  to  the  counter  of  the  Commercial 
Hotel,  and  said  that  I  wanted  to  see  the  head- 
porter. 

The  clerk  eyed  me, curiously  as  he  asked  me 
what  I  desired  of  the  head-porter.  I  wanted,  I 
said,  to  black  boots  for  a  night's  lodging.  The 
clerk  called  the  chief-porter,  and  they  both  looked 
at  me  as  a  natural  curiosity,  I  suppose,  while  they 
plied  me  with  a  few  questions.  They  seemed 


Squalor.  8 1 

pleased  with  my  answers,  or  touched  by  my  for- 
lorn condition  or  my  extreme  youth,  and  decided 
that  I  might  have  a  night's  lodging  without  black- 
ing boots  for  it. 

Accordingly  one  of  my  questioners  conducted 
me  up  into  the  highest  story  of  the  building,  and, 
pointing  to  a  bed  in  a  large  dormitory,  left  me  in 
the  society  of  some  dozen  or  more  snoring  waiters 
and  cooks.  I  knew  in  an  instant  the  nature  of 
the  occupation  of  my  room-mates,  for  I  recog- 
nized on  entering  the  apartment  that  post-culi- 
nary smell  of  dish-water  with  which  custom  had 
rendered  me  familiar,  and  which  the  philosophic 
nostril  will,  I  think,  almost  always  detect  about 
those  whose  constant  business  it  is  to  prepare  or 
serve  the  prandial  dish. 

When  I  think  of  that  dark  dormitory  now,  and 
the  sounds  that  rose  from  it,  I  am  reminded  of  a 
midsummer  night's  frog-pond ;  but  I  regarded  it 
far  more  seriously  then.  I  know  not  by  what 
chain  of  reasoning  I  established  the  connection 
between  their  stertorous  idiosyncrasies  and  their 
waking  employments,  yet  I  remember  very  dis- 
tinctly that  I  occupied  myself,  until  I  fell  asleep, 
in  assigning  the  proper  rank  and  position  to  each 


82  Vagabond  Adventures. 

of  the  snorers.  The  barytone,  that  came  to  me 
through  the  darkness  from  the  far  corner,  I  con- 
cluded, after  some  deliberation,  was  that  of  the 
chief-cook  himself. 

Then  there  was  a  deep  bass,  —  the  real  Me- 
phistophelian  hero  of  that  opera  of  sleepers,  - 
whose  exact  whereabout  in  the  room  I  could 
never  quite  discover,  for  his  note  sounded  each 
time  in  the  place  farthest  from  the  one  where 
I  had  heard  it  last,  or  expected  to  hear  it  next ; 
this  basso  cantante,  I  had  not  the  slightest  doubt, 
—  and  I  crouched  lower  on  my  pillow  at  the 
thought,  —  was  that  most  inscrutable  and  re- 
lentless of  tyrants,  in  all  dining-halls  and  cabins, 
the  head-waiter. 

The  several  tenors,  distributed  all  round  me  a 
little  too  lavishly  perhaps  for  the  nicer  harmonies 
of  strict  musical  taste,  being  —  as  I  suppose,  now, 
in  the  light  of  a  larger  experience  —  ambitious 
and  fitful,  as  is  the  proverbial  wont  of  tenors,  and 
running  jealously  ever  and  anon  into  a  dishonest 
falsetto,  as  if  with  a  professional  wish  to  attract 
attention,  —  these  several  tenor-snorers  were,  I 
felt  sure,  what  the  world  might  very  well  suffer  a 
great  many  ambitious,  fitful,  and  dishonest  tenors 


Squalor.  83 

always  to  be,  namely,  among  the  common  rank 
and  file  of  cooks  and  waiters. 

And  I  had  firmly  made  up  my  mind,  long  be- 
fore I  was  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  steady  crescendo 
of  the  chorus,  that  the  tapering  treble  which 
piped  darkling,  like  some  night  bird,  high  over  all, 
proceeded  from  some  pale-faced,  meek-eyed  scul- 
lion of  the  outer  kitchen,  who,  awake  and  in  the 
presence  of  his  chief,  would  not  dare  say  his  soul 
was  his  own. 

I  slept  soundly  enough  till  about  five  o'clock 
the  next  morning,  when  I  arose  hurriedly. 
Whether  my  half-roused  operatic  company  of  the 
night  before  thought  me  a  ghost,  or  how  they  ex- 
plained my  mysterious  coming  and  going  among 
them,  I  did  not  wait  to  learn.  Leaving  them  to 
stare  at  one  another  in  drowsy  amazement,  I  stole 
noiselessly  and  breakfastless  away  from  the 
hotel. 

The  fright  of  the  evening  preceding  had  shaken 
my  confidence  in  human  nature  generally.  I 
cannot  tell  how,  but  I  became  impressed  with  the 
ludicrous  idea  that  the  hotel  clerk  or  porter  would 
take  my  five  coppers  away  from  me,  in  payment 


84  Vagabond  Adventures. 

for  my  lodging,  —  to  say  nothing  of  my  breakfast, 
if  I  should  stay  for  it.  So  I  went  down  to  the 
docks  of  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  as  far  from  the 
Pacific  and  her  captain  as  possible. 

Here  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  strike  a  bargain 
with  the  cook  of  a  lumber  schooner  to  wash  his 
dishes  for  him,  provided  he  should  first  give  me 
all  I  could  eat ;  and  thus  I  broke  my  fast  of 
twenty-four  hours  with  the  first  full  meal  I  had 
taken  in  forty-eight  hours. 

While  finishing  up  the  work  I  had  agreed  to 
do  I  saw  the  steamer  Pacific  passing  down  the 
stream,  on  her  voyage  away  from  Detroit,  and  I 
breathed  freely  once  more. 

I  spent  some  days  now,  doing  odd  jobs  for 
cooks  and  pantrymen  for  my  board  and  lodging, 
while  their  vessels  were  in  port ;  but  my  clothes 
were  so  worn  and  soiled  by  this  and  previous 
service  that  I  could  get  no  chance  to  work  for 
wages  as  cabin-boy.  Because  of  my  clothes, 
also,  no  steamer  would  allow  me  to  go  out  of 
port  with  her ;  for  I  was  told  that  there  was  a 
law,  then  existing  in  most  of  the  lake  cities,  by 
which  a  boat  was  made  responsible  for  the  sup- 
port of  all  vagrants  she  carried  into  a  town. 


Squalor.  85 

I  do  not  know  whether  this  was  the  case ;  I 
know  merely  that  I  was  invariably  sent  ashore  on 
the  departure  of  any  craft  for  which  I  had  been 
washing  dishes  or  scouring  knives.  It  was  in- 
deed a  precarious  existence  that  I  led  in  this  way, 
but  one  to  which  I  could  see  no  immediate  end. 
I  think  it  was  twice  I  went  with  but  two  meals 
in  forty-eight  hours,  getting  nothing  from  break- 
fast to  breakfast. 

And,  I  may  say  here,  I  have  always  attributed 
great  advantage  to  the  fact  that  —  after  the  short 
and  disastrous  companionship  with  my  young 
friend  of  Irish  descent,  mentioned  some  pages 
back  —  I  was  my  own  fidus  Achates  in  all  these 
worst  distresses. 

Two  boys  will,  certainly,  do  more  mischief 
together  than  half  a  dozen  will  do  separately ; 
three  boys  together  will  do  more  than  eighteen 
separately,  —  and  so  on.  In  short,  I  fancy  it 
may  be  laid  down  as  a  general  principle,  that, 
under  the  conditions  just  enunciated,  there  is 
an  increasing  geometrical  ratio  between  the 
number  of  boys  and  the  amount  of  evil  they 
will  do. 

I  have  alluded  before  to  an  account  of  these 


86  Vagabond  Adventures. 

experiences  which  I  gave  to  my  school-fellows 
months  afterward.  The  degree  of  fertile  sugges- 
tion which  even  the  narrative  stirred  up  in  my 
auditory  should  have  made  me  thankful  then,  as 
I  am  certainly  now,  that  I  did  thus  lead  my  vaga- 
bond life  alone.  These  ardent  youngsters  would 
interpolate,  in  the  very  thickest  and  thrillingest 
,  movements  of  my  story,  advice  as  to  what  I 
should  have  done,  or  hints  as  to  what  they  would 
have  done,  under  the  circumstances. 

During  this  narration  to  my  school-fellows  — 
and  now  I  am  coming  to  the  purpose  of  the 
present  digression  —  a  boy  with  a  very  sinister- 
looking  face,  who  has  since  happily  died  of  the 
small-pox,  asked  me  why  I  did  n't  steal,  averring, 
with  great  frankness,  that  was  what  he  would 
have  done. 

Now  that  was  the  very  first  time  the  idea  of 
stealing  ever  crossed  my  mind,  in  connection 
with  my  boyish  calamities  and  deprivations.  I 
am  sure  of  this,  for  I  remember  the  startling  im- 
pression made  upon  me  at  the  moment  of  the 
boy's  suggestion.  I  dare  not  say  that  I  would 
not  have  stolen,  after  some  of  my  long  fasts,— 
if  I  had  ever  once  thought  of  it.  And  I  am  only 


Squalor.  87 

too  glad  that  this  anomaly  should  have  occurred 
in  my  case,  for,  of  a  truth,  it  strikes  me  as  much 
greater  as  a  metaphysical  phenomenon  than  as 
a  juvenile  virtue.* 

In  the  very  midst  of  my  direst  misfortunes, 
when  it  seemed  that  nothing  worse  could  possibly 
happen  to  me,  the  Pacific  came  steaming  back  to 
Detroit.  She  arrived  in  the  afternoon,  and,  al- 
though I  had  had  nothing  to  eat  that  day,  I  was 
in  too  great  apprehension  of  her  captain  to  think 
of  anything  but  concealment,  or  escape  from  the 
city. 

After  nightfall  I  stole  on  board  the  Michigan 
Central  steamer  May  Flower,  and  found  the 
fourth  porter.  I  had  been  among  menials  so 
long  that  I  knew  all  about  the  ramifications  of 
their  grades,  and  what  particular  line  of  duties 
belonged  to  individuals  of  each  grade.  The 
fourth  porter,  I  was  well  aware,  had  charge  of 
the  forecastle,  where  the  deck-hands  and  fire- 
men ate  and  slept. 

*  "  Multum  interest,  utrum  peccare  aliquis  nolit,  aut  nesciat." 
This  bit  of  Seneca  seems  so  appropriate,  that  I  hope  the  reader 
will  excuse  me  for  quoting  it  here,  even  if  I  did  get  it  at  second- 
hand from  Montaigne. 


88  Vagabond  Adventures. 

Now  the  fourth  porter  of  the  May  Flower  was 
a  lazy,  good-natured  little  pock-marked  Irishman, 
whom  I  had  no  great  difficulty  in  persuading  to 
smuggle  me  to  Buffalo,  on  condition  that  I  should 
do  the  greater  part  of  his  work  in  the  forecastle. 
I  was  glad,  it  will  be  seen,  to  make  any  port  in 
the  storm  which  at  that  time  swept  across  my 
terrified  imagination ;  Buffalo  was  not,  of  course, 
the  best  one  for  me,  but  anything  seemed  better, 
just  then,  than  the  prospect  of  that  Cimmerian 
Ho\ise  of  Vagrancy. 

.  My  friend,  the  fourth  porter,  was  so  well  pleased 
with  the  skill  and  taste  I  displayed  in  the  cleans- 
ing of  his  greasy  dishes  that  he  lent  a  degree  of 
zeal  to  the  carrying  out  of  his  part  of  the  contract 
which  wellnigh  proved  fatal  to  me.  For,  the 
next  day,  when  we  were  out  on  the  lake,  and  the 
fares  were  collecting,  he  hid  me  away  between 
two  mattresses,  as  black  as  the  coal  handled  by 
the  sturdy  firemen  who  usually  slept  on  them. 
I  was  already  half  smothered  when  the  clerk  and 
his  satellites  descended  into  the  forecastle ;  but 
the  fourth  porter,  to  crush  out,  I  suppose,  the 
merest  crease  of  suspicion,  sat  down  on  the  mat- 
tress which  covered  me,  and  carelessly  picked  his 
teeth  till  the  danger  was  past. 


Squalor.  89 

It  was  well  that  the  forecastle  was  so  unin- 
viting a  place  as  to  detain  the  clerk  but  a  short 
time,  since  I  should  have  screamed  or  perished 
in  a  half-minute  more.  When  drawn  out,  at  last, 
by  the  party  of  the  first  part  to  our  contract, 
I  was  very  black  in  the  face,  not  only  from  the 
smothering  I  had  endured,  but  from  the  coal- 
dust  I  had  taken  from  the  mattresses. 


CHAPTER   X. 

I 

A   FINAL   TRIUMPH. 

A  RRIVED  safely  at  Buffalo,  I  did  not  look 
•^"^  much  like  the  urchin  who  had  left  there 
several  months  before.  "Although  I  had  consci- 
entiously washed  my  solitary  piece  of  linen  every 
week,  and  tried  to  keep  myself  as  neatly  as  I 
could,  my  clothes  were  greasy  and  ragged  and 
my  boots  nearly  off  my  feet. 

I  wandered  about  the  wharves  without  any 
purpose  that  I  can  now  remember,  and  might 
have  been  very  disconsolate  if  it  were  not  for  the 
joy  I  felt  at  escaping  from  the  danger  which  I 
considered  so  imminent  at  Detroit.  This  latter 
city,  indeed,  I  came  to  look  upon  as  a  peculiarly 
unlucky  place  for  me,  —  an  opinion  which  I  con- 
tinued to  entertain  up  to  the  time  of  a  signal 
triumph  I  had  there  afterward  as  the  juvenile 
prodigy  of  jig-dancing  and  negro-minstrelsy. 

I  was  just  on  the  point  of  turning  away  from 


A  Final  Triumph.  91 

the  docks  for  a  stroll  up  some  of  the  neighboring 
squalid  by-streets  of  Buffalo  when  I  suddenly 
heard  myself  called  by  name.  It  would  be  hard 
to  say  when  I  was  worse  terrified.  I  was  really 
afraid  of  my  own  name.  No  good  could  come  to 
me,  I  felt  sure,  from  any  one's  knowing  it.  Gazing 
around  toward  the  wharf,  in  the  direction  from 
which  the  sound  had  seemed  to  come,  I  saw  no- 
body but  some  laborers  unloading  a  sailing  vessel, 
close  at  hand,  and  they  took  no  notice  of  me. 

Again  I  heard  my  name,  which  sounded  this 
time  as  if  it  came  mysteriously  from  somewhere 
up  in  the  air.  Sweeping  the  dingy  heights  of  the 
masts  and  smoke-stacks  and  office-windows  with 
my  astonished  eyes,  I  beheld,  at  last,  a  boy  com- 
ing briskly  toward  me  down  a  flight  of  steps  that 
led  from  a  commission-house. 

It  was  my  school-fellow,  who  had  harbored  me 
in  the  stable  the  first  night  of  my  run-away  ;  and 
it  was  from  the  window  of  his  father's  office,  he 
told  me,  that  he  had  first  seen  and  called  me. 
"  How  you  look !  but  I  am  glad  to  see  you  ! "  and 
many  other  frank,  kind  things  the  generous  little 
fellow  said. 

He  prefaced  his  eager  questions  as  to  where  I 


92  Aagabond  Vdventiires. 

had  been  and  how  I  came  to  spoil  my  clothes  so, 
with  the  remark  that  he  guessed  it  was  n't  so  fun- 
ny, after  all,  to  go  out  in  the  world  seeking  a  fel- 
low's fortune.  My  own  plight  at  the  time  was 
better  calculated,  I  think,  than  any  moral  obser- 
vations I  may  have  made,  to  fortify  him  in  this 
opinion.  If  I  did  indulge  in  a  few  gravely  elo- 
quent words  of  warning,  I  have  so  far  forgotten 
them  that  I  cannot  repeat  them  here  for  the 
benefit  of  thoughtless,  adventure-loving  boys  of 
to-day. 

As  soon  as  I  had  briefly  satisfied  my  friend's 
curiosity  as  to  the  dangers  myself  and  clothes  had 
passed,  he  insisted  on  my  going  right  along 
home  with  him.  I  refused,  of  course,  being 
ashamed  of  my  toilet,  and  still  afraid  of  capture 
by  the  people  from  whom  I  had  fled.  Where- 
upon my  old  school-mate  assured  me  that  his 
mother  had  scolded  him  for  not  before  bringing 
me  into  the  house  instead  of  the  stable.  He 
gave  me  furthermore  to  understand  that  she  had 
heard  all  about  my  domestic  quarrel,  and  upheld 
me  in  what  I  had  done. 

This  information  had  its  effect,  and  I  turned 
with  him  toward  his  home.  The  well-dressed 


A  Final  Triumph.  93 

boy  did  not  seem  at  all  abashed  to  walk  through 
the  most  crowded  streets  with  me,  although  the 
striking  contrast  of  our  attire  and  social  positions 
must  have  been  highly  suggestive  to  any  passing 
philosopher.  Boys  of  the  short-jacket  age  may, 
by  the  way,  have  many  imperfect  and  even  cruel 
traits,  but  we  must  confess,  as  men,  that  caste 
begins v  on  our  side  of  long-tailed  coats. 

At  my  friend's  home  I  received  a  kindly  greet- 
ing from  his  mother,  who  immediately  insisted  — 
as  good  women  in  their  hospitable  souls  often  do, 
for  almost  any  ill  that  can  befall  a  person  —  on 
producing  something  to  eat.  Now  it  happened, 
for  a  wonder,  that  I  was  not  hungry,  having 
scarcely  an  hour  before  taken  a  very  hearty  meal, 
on  general  principles  of  prevention  (though  in 
the  middle  of  the  forenoon),  just  previous  to  my 
parting  with  the  fourth  porter  of  the  steamer 
May  Flower. 

But  that  did  not  satisfy  the  sympathy  of  my 
friend's  mother.  The  hospitable  longing  just 
hinted  at,  which  not  unfrequently  seeks  to  admin- 
ister consolation  through  the  stomach  for  wounds 
and  sprains  of  the  limbs  as  well  as  for  wounds  and 


94  Vagabond  Adventures. 

sprains  of  the  heart  and  head,  —  the  spirit  which 
underlies,  I  suppose,  the  custom  of  funeral  baked- 
meats,  —  was  aroused  in  the  kind-hearted  lady. 
She  saw,  no  doubt,  in  my  stained  and  tattered 
garments  an  illuminated  chronicle  of  present  dis- 
tress, and  all  manner  of  past  misfortunes.  And  I 
had  to  eat  again. 

Then  she  sent  me  up  stairs,  and  had  me  bathed 
and  thrust  into  a  suit  of  her  son's  clothes  and  a 
pair  of  his  boots  ;  all  of  which  fitted  me  admirably. 
Having  changed  my  five  pennies  from  the  pocket 
of  the  old  to  that  of  the  new  pantaloons,  I  de- 
scended to  meet  her  criticism.  She  seemed  well 
pleased  with  the  result,  and,  telling  me  I  must 
take  good  care  of  the  clothes  and  boots,  for  they 
were  now  mine,  she  made  me  sit  down  and  give 
her  an  account  of  my  wanderings.  This  ended, 
she  dismissed  me  to  play  with  her  own  boy,  first 
making  me  promise  I  would  come  back  to  her 
house  to  eat  and  sleep.' 

My  young  friend,  who  had  been  an  interested 
witness  of  my  metamorphosis  in  all  its  stages, 
delighted,  I  need  hardly  add,  as  much  as  I  did  in 
his  mother's  benevolence,  or  as  much  as  she  did 
in  our  mutual  joy.  Indeed,  the  expression  of  the 


A  Final  Triumph.  95 

kind  lady's  face,  calmly  pleased  at  her  own  act, 
but  brightly  exultant  in  the  reflection  of  our  re- 
joicing, was  then  something  beautiful  to  see,  and 
has  been  grateful  to  think  upon  since.  It  was 
Saturday,  and,  there  being  no  school,  we  two  boys 
made  a  merry  day  of  it,  keeping,  however,  well 
out  of  the  neighborhood  of  my  former  home. 

I  could  not  make  my  friend  understand,  any 
more  than  I  can  now  myself,  why  I  had  not  long 
before  spent  the  five  coppers  he  had  given  me. 
When  I  had  plenty  to  eat  they  were,  I  remember, 
a  kind  of  sword  and  shield  to  me,  adding  greatly 
to  my  independence,  which  almost  always,  at 
such  moments  of  bodily  fulness,  was  of  the  happy 
and  triumphant  sort.  It  was  only  in  the  seasons 
of  my  direst  need  that  I  had  a  vague  expectancy 
of  worse  times ;  and  against  these  worse  times,  I 
suppose,  I  held  my  coppers. 

And  the  reader  may  explain,  if  he  can,  what  is 
really  the  fac£,  that  this  apprehension  of  greater 
misfortunes  than  ever  came — and  which  my  pen- 
nies were  sometimes  powerless  to  dispel  —  and 
my  fear  of  the  heartless  captain  of  the  steamer 
Pacific  were  the  only  sources  of  unhappiness  dur- 
ing my  worst  privations.  If  I  could  have  been 


96  Vagabond  Adventures. 

• 

free   of  these,   I    am   convinced,   I  might  have 
been  very  hungry,  but  never  very  unhappy. 

Over  the  supper-table  that  Saturday  evening,  my 
case  and  person  having  been  made  known  to  my 
friend's  father,  a  consultation  was  had  about  my 
future.  I  was  strongly  in  favor  of  going  on  a 
first-class  steamboat,  and  rather  forward,  perad- 
venture,  in  advocating  my  views.  My  friend's 
father,  thinking  of  no  better  place  for  me  to  work 
for  myself,  or  entertaining  secret  doubts  as  to  my 
staying  in  any  better  place,  if  put  there,  promised 
his  wife  to  see  what  he  could  do  for  me  in  the 
direction  taken  by  my  own  inclinations. 

Accordingly,  on  the  next  Monday,  by  his  in- 
fluence, and  by  the  kindness  of  the  late  Captain 
Pheatt,  a  position  was  secured  for  me  on  the 
steamer  Northern  Indiana. 

I  received  ten  dollars  a  month  for  acting  as 
what  was  called  key-boy,  whose  light  duties  were 
to  take  care  of  the  state-room  keys  and  attend  the 
steward's  office.  I  had  also  the  exclusive  privb 
lege  of  selling  books  and  papers  to  the  passen- 
gers. By  favor  I  received  a  share  of  my  wages 
in  advance,  and,  adding  my  five  coppers  to  the 


A  Final  Triumph.  97 

sum,  I  made  my  first  investment  in  yellow-cov- 
ered literature. 

The  steamer,  which  was  a  veritable  floating 
palace,  carried  hundreds  of  passengers  every  trip, 
and  I  prospered.  It  was  the  custom  of  many 
people,  in  compliment  to  my  diminutive  size,  or  in 
disgust  at  their  contents,  to  make  me  presents  of 
their  books,  when  they  had  read  them,  or  tried 
to  read  them.  Thus  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
sell  the  same  book  two,  three,  and  even  four  times 
over.  I  made  ten  and  sometimes  fifteen  dollars 
a  week  in  this  way  and  in  the  legitimate  mer- 
chandise of  my  books  and  papers. 

Scarce  seven  moons  from  the  time  of  my  first 
flight  from  Buffalo,  and  my  five  coppers  had  in- 
creased to  I  know  not  how  many  dollars. '  When 
the  steamer  was  laid  up  in  the  late  autumn,  I  had 
money  enough  to  keep  me  handsomely  and  send 
me  to  school  all  the  next  winter,  —  if,  as  shall  be 
seen,  fate,  in  the  guise  of  disappointed  affection, 
and  a  banjo,  had  not  ordered  otherwise. 

It  is  just  both  to  my  natural  and  legal  guar- 
dians to  say  here,  that,  when  they  saw  me  not  only 
determined  but  able  to  support  myself,  they  left 
5  G 


98  Vagabond  Adventures. 

me  ever  afterward  quietly  to  my  own  devices. 
My  necessities,  therefore,  and  the  prosperous  re- 
sult of  my  first  adventures  with  five  coppers,  led 
me  to  adopt  —  a  little  too  romantically,  perhaps, 
in  the  latter  and  more  thoughtful  period  of  my 
youth  —  a  principle  to  which  I  long  had  a  kindly 
leaning,  notwithstanding  the  hard  knocks  it  dealt 
me.  Indeed,  it  is  still  doubtful  in  my  mind 
whether  it  is  not  better  to  devote  half  of  one's 
energies  in  learning  to  live  on  a  very  small  in- 
come than  to  devote  all  of  one's  energies  in 
struggling  and  waiting  miserably  for  a  very 
large  income. 

That,  at  least,  was  my  principle ;  and,  if  it 
trammelled  the  head  with  false  doctrine,  it  left  the 
soul  remarkably  free.  Thus,  it  will  be  seen,  my 
entire  subsequent  wanderings,  my  course  at  an 
American  college,  and  at  a  German  university  - 
the  former  on  nothing  to  speak  of,  and  the  latter 
on  eighty  dollars  —  all  sprang  more  or  less  direct- 
ly from  the  extraordinary  qualities  of  expansion, 
both  spiritual  and  financial,  which,  at  the  early 
age  of  eleven,  I  discovered  in  those  five  copper 
cents. 


BOOK    II. 


THREE  YEARS  AS  A  NEGRO-MINSTREL. 
JET.  12-15. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MY    FIRST    COMPANY. 

"XTEGRO-MINSTRELS  were,  I  think,  more 
•*  ^  highly  esteemed  at  the  time  of  which  I 
am  about  to  write  than  they  are  now ;  at  least, 
I  thought  more  of  them  then,  both  as  individ- 
uals and  as  ministers  to  public  amusement,  than 
I  ever  have  since. 

The  first  troupe  of  the  kind  I  saw  was  the  old 
"Kunkels,"  and  I  can  convey  no  idea  of  the  pleas- 
urable thrill  I  felt  at  the  banjo-solo  and  the  plan- 
tation-jig. I  resolved  on  the  spot  to  be  a  negro- 
minstrel.  Mr.  Ford,  in  whose  theatre  President 
Lincoln  was  assassinated,  was,  I  believe,  the  agent 
of  this  company.  I  made  known  my  ambition  to 
that  gentleman  and  to  Mr.  Kunkel  himself,  and 
they  promised,  no  doubt,  as  the  best  means  of 
getting  rid  of  me,  to  take  me  with  them  the  next 
year. 

Meantime  I  bought  a  banjo,  and  had  pennies 


IO2  Vagabond  Adventures. 

screwed  on  the  heels  of  my  boots,  and  practised 
"Jordan"  on  the  former  and  the  " Juba"  dance 
with  the  latter,  till  my  boarding-house  keeper 
gave  me  warning.  I  think  there  is  scarcely  a 
serious  friend  of  mine  acquainted  with  me  at  that 
period  who  does  not  remember  me  with  sorrow 
and  vexation.  The  racket  that  I  made  at  all 
hours  and  in  all  places  can  be  accounted  for  only 
by  the  youthful  zeal  with  which  I  "practised," 
and  which  I  despair  of  describing  in  anything  so 
cold  as  words. 

I  was  then  in  my  twelfth  year,  and  my  own 
master.  It  was,  indeed,  in  that  prosperous  win- 
ter after  the  squalid  summer  of  my  six  months' 
wandering.  I  was  going  to  school  at  Toledo, 
Ohio,  and  leading  a  very  independent  life  on  the 
money  I  had  made  out  of  the  common  invest- 
ment of  my  five  coppers  and  of  my  wages,  as  key- 
boy  of  the  steamer  Northern  Indiana,  commanded 
by  the  late  Captain  Pheatt. 

I  mention  this  kindly  old  gentleman  again  in 
the  present  connection  because  he  suffered  a 
great  deal  from  my  early  penchant  to  perform  the 
clog-dance  on  the  thin  deck  above  his  state-room. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  here  the  eager  and 


My  Firs  I  Company.  103 

emphatic  remonstrances  which  the  good  captain 
would  make  when  I  had  inadvertently  seized  the 
occasion  of  his  "  watch  below  "  to  shuffle  him  out 
of  a  profound  sleep.  But,  I  may  remark  in  pass- 
ing, I  have  never  known  any  one  who  regarded 
everything  about  negro-minstrelsy  with  so  little 
reverence  or  admiration. 

It  could  not  have  been  long  after  my  interview 
with  Messrs.  Ford  and  Kunkel  when  my  landlady 
gave  me  warning  to  take  myself  and  banjo  and 
obstreperous  feet  out  of  her  house.  With  some 
difficulty,  however,  I  found  another  place  to  board, 
where  the  plastering  of  the  apartment  below  mine 
was  proof  against  the  coppers  on  my  heels  and 
the  complicated  shuffles  of  "  Juba."  For  a  month 
or  two  more  I  continued  to  go  to  school,  devoting 
only  my  spare  hours  to  minstrelsy.  I  should,  no 
doubt,  have  abandoned  my  studies  much  sooner 
than  I  did,  had  it  npt  been  for  a  love-affair  which 
for  a  while  divided  my  attentions  with  my  banjo. 

My  Dulcinea  was  a  red-cheeked  little  creature 
in  a  check  apron.  I  had  a  rival,  in  the  same 
school  with  us,  whom  I  vanquished  by  an  unfair 
and  lavish  expenditure  of  my  superior  wealth.  I 
used  to  get  up  foot-races  for  pennies  in  which 


IO4  Vagabond  Adventures. 

I  contrived  that  her  little  brother  should  always 
beat  and  carry  off  the  rewards.  This  was  for  a 
time  effectual.  My  rival  was  completely  ousted, 
and  my  two  absorbing  affections  joined  hands, 
as  I  may  say  figuratively,  when  the  young  lady 
and  I  met  after  school,  in  her  father's  wood-shed, 
and  I  played  "Jordan"  for  her  on  the  banjo. 

She  may  have  tired  of  my  music,  since  that  one 
tune  executed  mechanically  was  the  alpha  and 
omega  of  my  repertory ;  or  she  may  have  tired  of 
me,  —  I  cannot  speak  definitely.  If  I  had  ever 
essayed  to  accompany  the  instrument  with  my* 
voice,  it  would  have  been  different.  Then  I  never 
should  have  forgiven  myself,  and  I  could  have 
forgiven  her,  after  the  denouement  which  closed 
her  heart  and  her  father's  wood-shed  to  me  for- 
ever. For,  in  the  course  of  a  few  brief  weeks,  a 
taller  and  much  handsomer  boy  than  either  my 
former  rival  or  myself  took  the  little  miss  away 
from  us  both. 

In  my  disgust,  I  left  school  and  devoted  all  the 
energies  of  my  blighted  spirit  to  minstrelsy.  I 
organized  a  band  of  boys  into  a  troupe,  styling 
them  the  "  Young  Metropolitans,"  and  appointing 


My  First  Company.  105 

myself  musical  director,  though  I  knew  no  more 
of  music  than  of  chemistry.  I  spent  my  money 
for  instruments  for  the  company,  and  for  furniture 
to  deck  the  room  in  which  we  met  for  rehearsal. 
The  musical  instruments,  however,  were  the  least 
of  the  expense,  since  these  consisted,  if  I  well 
recollect,  of  the  banjo  before  mentioned,  three 
sets  of  bones,  a  tambourine,  a  triangle,  and  an 
accordion. 

With  these,  nevertheless,  we  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing it  very  unpleasant  for  some  quiet-loving  Teu- 
tons who  were  accustomed  to  dream  over  their 
beer  at  a  Wirthschaft  in  the  same  wooden  building, 
and  indeed  just  under  the  apartment  in  which  we 
rehearsed  every  evening.  On  certain  occasions, 
when  I  executed  my  "Juba"  dance,  or,  in  com- 
pany with  others,  performed  the  Virginia  walk- 
around,  these  honest  Germans  would  leave  their 
beer,  and  sometimes  their  hats  and  pipes,  behind 
them  in  terror,  and  rush  precipitately  into  the 
middle  of  the  street.  There  they  would  stand 
and  gaze  in  silent  amazement  up  at  the  win- 
dows, or  utter  their  surprise  and  wrath  at  the 
proceedings  in  the  expressive,  but  unintelligible 
speech  of  the  Fatherland. 


106  Vagabond  Adventures. 

The  host,  a  portly  gentleman  with  a  red  nose, 
remonstrated  with  us  about  four  times  a  week,  to 
little  purpose.  The  owner  of  the  building  also 
remonstrated ;  but  we  had  rented  the  apartment, 
and  would  not  leave  till  our  time  was  out.  We 
were  constrained,  however,  to  forego  our  jig  and 
walk-around.  Still  our  music  and  singing,  to 
which  we  were  now  confined,  came  near  breaking 
up  the  poor  retail  Gambrinus  of  the  saloon  be- 
neath. His  "  stem-guests "  fell  off  one  by  one, 
and  sought  a  quieter  neighborhood  for  their  even- 
ing potations.  It  was  only  the  bravest  of  them 
that  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  return  for  any- 
thing more  than  their  hats  and  pipes,  after  hav- 
ing been  driven  into  the  street  on  any  of  our 
siege-nights. 

The  best  praise  I  can  give  to  the  young  gentle- 
man who  played  the  accordion  is,  that  he  was* 
worthy  to  be  under  such  a  musical  director  as 
myself.  He  could  play  only  one  tune  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  and  that  was  the  "  Gum-Tree  Canoe." 
Now  it  happened  none  of  us  could  sing  the  song, 
which,  as  is  well  known,  is  of  the  slow,  melan- 
choly, sentimental  order ;  so  this  single  tune 
would  have  been  of  very  little  benefit  to  us,  had 


My  First  Company.  107 

we  not,  luckily,  pressed  it  into  the  incongruous 
double  service  of  opening  overture  and  closing 
quickstep. 

The  songs  that  we  sang,  or  attempted  to  sing, 
were  executed  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  three 
sets  of  bones,  the  tambourine,  triangle,  and  banjo, 
with  an  uncertain  ghostly  second  on  the  accordion, 
which,  being  the  same  for  all  tunes  and  following 
no  lead  whatever,  was  of  a  sufficiently  lugubrious 
and  dismal  nature,  when  it  was  not  wholly 
drowned  by  the  clangor  of  the  other  instruments. 

My  company,  it  must  be  confessed,  had  zeal, 
but  little  talent.  I  spent  what  was  left  of  my 
summer's  earnings  before  I  could  get  them  up  to 
a  point  that  would,  in  my  judgment,  warrant  a 
hope  of  success,  should  we  give  the  public  ex- 
hibition for  which  my  minstrels  were  clamorously 
ambitious. 

After  many  long  months  of  fruitless  trial,  the 
rent  of  our  room  becoming  due,  our  furniture  and 
instruments  were  seized ;  the  landlord  turned  us 
out  of  doors  ;  the  German  beer-seller  crossed  him- 
self thankfully ;  and  I  was  as  completely  ruined 
as  many  a  manager  before  me. 


CHAPTER    II. 

I    BECOME   A    BENEFICIARY. 

T  T  may  as  well  be  owned  that  I  had  no  natural 
-*-  aptness  for  the  banjo,  and  was  always  an  in- 
different player  ;  but  for  dancing  I  had,  I  am  con- 
fident, such  a  remarkable  gift  as  few  have  ever 
had.  Up  to  this  day,  I  do  not  think  I  ever  have 
seen  a  step  done  by  man  or  woman  that  I 
could  not  do  as  soon  as  I  saw  it,  —  not  saying, 
of  course,  how  gracefully.  I  am  not,  however,  so 
vain  or  proud  of  this  gift  as  I  used  to  be,  and 
should  hardly  have  written  the  foregoing  sentence 
at  all,  had  it  not  seemed  necessary  to  a  proper 
understanding  of  subsequent  passages  in  this  nar- 
rative. 

I  was  still  so  small  of  stature,  and  yet  capable 
of  producing  so  much  noise  with  the  coppers  on 
my  heels,  that,  by  the  wholesale  clerks  and  young 
bloods  about  town,  I  was  considered  in  the  light 
of  a  prodigy,  and  made  to  shuffle  my  feet  at  almost 


/  become  a  Beneficiary.  109 

all  hours  and  in  almost  all  localities.  It  was  by 
this  means,  at  some  place  of  convivial  resort,  that 
I  attracted  the  notice  and  admiration  of  a  con- 
ductor on  the  Michigan  Southern  and  Northern 
Indiana  Railroad.  He  determined  to  have  so 
much  talent  with  him  all  the  time,  and  prevailed 
upon  me  to  be  his  train-boy. 

Here,  as  on  the  lake,  I  had  the  exclusive  privi- 
lege of  selling  books  and  papers  to  the  passengers. 
The  great  railways  were  not  then  farmed  by  a 
single  person  or  firm  as  now.  I  was  my  own 
agent  and  the  regulator  of  my  own  prices  and 
profits.  Both  of  these  latter  I  found  it  convenient 
to  make  large,  and  was  again  the  possessor  of 
more  money  than  I  cared  to  spend. 

It  was  my  business  to  carry  water  through  the 
cars  at  stated  intervals.  On  a  day  train  I  coirld 
afford  to  perform  my  duty  with  promptness,  when 
I  had  sufficiently  worried  the  passengers  with 
my  merchandise.  But  on  a  night  train — which 
came  to  my  lot  just  as  often  as  a  day  train  —  I 
took  a  more  lucrative  and,  I  fear,  less  reputable 
means  of  quenching  the  thirst  of  travellers. 
There  were  no  sleeping-cars  in  those  times,  and, 
I  believe,  no  water-tanks  in  the  passenger-cars. 


no  Vagabond  Adventures. 

My  memory  may  fail, me  in  this  matter  of  the 
water-tanks,  but  I  am  certain  that  I  never  filled 
them,  if  there  were  any  on  our  road.  I  don't 
know  whether  more  people  travelled  then  than 
now,  but  I  remember  the  trains  were  exceeding 
long  ones  in  those  hot  summer  nights,  and  the 
people  became  terribly  thirsty.  And  this  is  the 
way  I  comforted  them  :  — 

Taking  a  barrel  of  water,  a  pailful  of  brown 
sugar,  and  a  proper  amount  of  a  well-known  acid, 
I  concocted  lemonade  which  I  sold  through  the 
train  for  five  cents  a  glass.  When  thirsty  lips 
asked  piteously  for  water,  I  would  tell  the  sufferer, 
with  perfect  truth,  that  there  was  not  a  drop  of 
pure  water  left  on  the  train.  I  blush  to  write  that 
I  sometimes  sold  fifteen  ddllars'  worth  of  this  vile 
compound  in  a  night. 

I  was  taught  how  to  prepare  it  by  a  man  who 
travelled  with  a  circus,  and  who  assured  me  that 
all  his  ice-cold  lemonade  was  concocted  in  the 
same  way ;  and  that,  far  from  having  killed  any- 
body, it  gave  perfect  satisfaction  to  the  gentle- 
men and  ladies  from  the  country,  who  were  his 
principal  customers. 

The  only  excuse  I  have  to  offer  for  myself  now 


/  become  a  Beneficiary.  in 

is,  that  I  was  not  conscious  then  how  great  a 
villain  I  really  was. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  summer  the  cholera 
became  so  prevalent  in  the  Western  cities  that  I 
thought  it  prudent  to  retire  from  the  active  life  of 
a  train-boy,  and  live  quietly  on  my  earnings.  I 
settled  myself,  therefore,  at  a  fashionable  board- 
ing-house in  Toledo. 

Here  the  landlady,  fearful  of  the  dust  and 
anxious  for  the  integrity  of  her  carpet,  made  a 
remarkable  compromise  with  me  to  the  glory 
of  aesthetics.  Whenever  there  was  a  pressing 
request  from  the  boarders  for  me  to  exercise  my 
feet,  she  would  bustle  in  with  a  large  roll  of  oil- 
cloth, and  spread  it  uncomplainingly  on  the  par- 
lor floor  near  the  piano  to  the  music  of  which  I 
danced.  This  was,  I  think,  the  first  introduction 
of  clogs  as  a  drawing-room  entertainment.  I 
soon  came  to  be  invited  out  as  a  sort  of  cub- 
lion  ;  and  thus  it  happened  that  the  rumor  and 
dust  of  my  accomplishments  spread  gradually 
throughout  the  city. 

One  evening  I  strolled  into  what  was  then  the 
St.  Nicholas,  and,  stepping  to  the  bar,  which  came 


ii2  Vagabond  Adventures. 

just  up  to  my  juvenile  shoulders,  I  demanded 
authoritatively  of  the  bar-tender  if  he  had  any 
good  pale  brandy.  He  said  that  he  had.  I  told 
him  in  the  same  imperative  tone  to  give  me  a 
ten-cent  drink,  "and  none  of  his  instant-death 
kind  either." 

This  made  somewhat  of  a  sensation  among  the 
frequenters  of  that  fashionable  resort.  They  evi- 
dently mistook  this  brandy-bibbing  as  a  swagger- 
ing habit  of  mine ;  whereas  I  was  honestly  pre- 
scribing for  myself  what  had  been  recommended 
to  me  as  the  best  preventive  of  cholera.  Having 
swallowed  and  paid  for  the  brandy,  I  was  prepar- 
ing to  withdraw,  when  I  heard  this  dialogue  going 
on  behind  me  :  — 

"  Who  for  pity's  sake  is  that  ? " 

"That?  why,  that's  just  the  boy  you  want 
But  can't  he  dance  though ! " 

Turning,  I  saw  a  couple  of  well-dressed  men 
seated  together  at  the  end  of  the  room.  I  had 
barely  time  to  observe  that  one  was  a  stranger  to 
me,  when  the  other  called  me  to  him,  and  intro- 
duced me  to  Johnny  Booker. 

Now  I  had  heard  the  songs,  then  popular, "  Meet 
Johnny  Booker  in  the  Bowling  Green,"  and 


/  become  a  Beneficiary.  113 

"Johnny  Booker  help  dis  nigger";  and  when  I 
was  aware  that  I  was  standing  before  the  per- 
son to  whose  glory  these  lyrics  had  been  written, 
I  was  very  much  abashed.  I  looked  upon  a  great 
negro-minstrel  as  unquestionably  the  greatest  man 
on  earth,  and  it  was  some  time  before  I  could 
answer  his  questions  intelligibly. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes,  however,  I  was 
conducted  into  a  private  room,  where  I  was  made 
to  dance  "  Juba "  to  the  time  which  the  come- 
dian himself  gave  me  by  means  of  his  two  hands 
and  one  foot,  and  which  is  technically  called  "pat- 
ting." My  performance,  it  seems,  was  satisfac- 
tory, for  I  was  engaged  on  the  spot. 

Mr.  Booker  was  then  waiting  for  the  rest  of  his 
company  to  join  him  ;  and  when  they  arrived,  I  was 
instituted  jig-dancer  to  the  troupe,  with  a  weekly 
salary  of  five  dollars  and  all  my  travelling  expenses. 

The  other  performers  came  I  know  not  from 
what  dismembered  bands,  to  the  relief  or  grief 
of  I  know  not  what  distant  hotels  or  boarding- 
houses.  But,  I  will  venture  to  say,  no  landlord,  to 
whom  the  more  reckless  of  them  may  have  been 
in  arrears,  could  have  regarded  their  movements 
with  a  more  lively  interest  than  I  did,  after  their 

H 


H4  Vagabond  Adventures. 

arrival  at  Toledo.  As  they  came  straggling  in, 
one  after  the  other,  with  their  bass-viols  and  gui- 
tars and  banjos  in  mysterious  bags  of  green-baize 
or  glazed  oil-cloth,  I  looked  upon  them  as  I  might 
have  looked  upon  people  who  had  come  from 
another  world. 

If  some  of  them  appeared  a  little  seedy,  in  the 
long  interval  between  this  and  their  previous  en- 
gagement, and  if  others  wore  their  coats  strangely 
buttoned  over' their  shirt-bosoms,  I  put  it  down  of 
course  to  the  peculiarity  and  privilege  of  genius. 
When  I  walked  through  the  streets  to  and  from 
rehearsal  with  these  strange  beings,  it  was  a  tri- 
umphal procession  to  me.  I  seemed  crowned  for 
the  time  with  the  glory  with  which  my  young 
imagination  had  invested  everything  belonging 
to  them. 

It  is  impossible  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  grati- 
fied ambition  with  which  I  prepared  for  my  first 
appearance  on  the  stage.  The  great  Napoleon  in 
the  coronation  robes,  which  can  be  seen  any  day 
in  the  Tuileries,  was  not  prouder  or  happier  than  I 
when  I  made  my  initial  bow  before  the  foot-lights, 
in  my  small  Canton  flannel  knee-pants,  cheap  lace, 
gold  tinsel,  corked  face,  and  woolly  wig. 


/  become  a  Beneficiary.  115 

I  do  not  remember  any  embarrassment,  for  I 
was  only  doing  in  public  what  I  had  already  done 
for  the  majority  of  the  audience  in  private.  If  I 
had  acquitted  myself  much  worse  than  I  really 
did,  my  dtbut  would  still,  I  am  convinced,  have 
been  considered  a  success. 

So  great,  indeed,  was  the  local  pride  of  the  good 
Toledans  in  their  infant  phenomenon,  that  after 
the  company  had  exhibited  a  week,  my  name  — 
or  rather  the  nom  de  guerre  which  I  had  assumed 
— was  put  up  for  a  benefit.  On  that  day  I  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  hung  across  the  street, 
on  a  large  canvas,  a  water-color  representation  of 
myself,  with  one  arm  and  one  leg  elevated,  in  the 
act  of  performing  "Juba"  over  the  heads  and 
carts  and  carriages  of  the  passers-by. 

At  night  the  house  was  crowded,  and  I  was 
called  out  three  times  ;  but  what  afterwards  struck 
me  as  unaccountably  odd  was,  that  I  received 
not  one  cent  from  the  proceeds  of  this  benefit. 
When  my  salary  was  paid  me,  at  the  end  of  the 
next  week,  I  was  assured  that  "  this  benefit  busi- 
ness "  was  a  mere  trick  of  the  trade,  and  I  was 
forced  to  content  myself  with  the  fact  that  I  had 
learned  something  in  my  new  profession. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE   FATE   OF   THE    SERENADERS. 

T  T  7E  now  started  on  our  travels,  staying  from 
*  *  one  night  to  a  week  in  a  city,  according 
to  its  size,  stopping  always  at  the  best  hotels,  and 
leading  the  merriest  of  lives  generally.  I  had  the 
additional  glory  of  being  stared  at  as  the  youth- 
ful prodigy  by  day,  and  of  having  more  than  my 
share  of  applause,  accompanied  sometimes  with 
quarter-dollars,  bestowed  on  me  at  night. 

There  are  probably  many  who  will  yet  remem- 
ber to  have  seen  their  cities  thoroughly  posted 
and  plastered  with  the  glaring  announcement,  in 
gigantic  red  letters,  that  "The  Metropolitan  Sere- 
naders  "  were  "  coming. "  That  was  our  company, 
and  in  that  golden  age  of  minstrelsy  our  coming 
was  an  event  of  some  importance.  It  certainly 
seemed  so  to  the  management ;  for  on  our  arrival 
it  was  furthermore  announced  in  large  sky-blue 
letters,  on  all  the  prominent  vacant  buildings,  and 


The  Fate  of  the  Serenaders.        1 1 7 

on  all  the  low-tariff  or  free-trading  board  fences, 
that  "  The  Metropolitan  Serenaders  "  had  "  come. " 
N  Nor  was  this  all.  As  soon  as  our  property- 
boxes  were  unpacked,  our  portraits  in  most  gor- 
geous colored  daguerreotypes  were  suspended 
about  the  entrance  to  the  hall  where  we  were  to 
perform,  and  about  the  reading-rooms  of  the  prin- 
cipal hotels.  Bad  as  these  unquestionably  were, 
they  were  the  very  perfection  of  that  style  of  art 
in  those  days ;  and  thus  it  happened  that  those 
even  who  came  upon  our  pictures  to  scoff, 
remained  to  admire. 

In  addition,  there  was  a  collective  and  general 
—  I  may  say,  very  general  —  representation  of 
ourselves  on  canvas,  suspended  across  the  prin- 
cipal street;  we  being -attired,  for  that  pictorial 
occasion  only,  in  green  dress-coats  and  in  panta- 
loons of  the  same  shade  as  our  lips,  which  were 
of  a  very  brilliant  and  unnatural  pink. 

I  was  sometimes  astonished  at  the  stupidity  of 
the  common  public,  who  would  frequently,  as  I 
stood  among  them,  in  graceful  incognito,  point 
out  on  this  superb  water-color  the  picture  of  the 
guitar-player,  and  decide  in  my  hearing  that  he 
must  be  meant  for  the  "Juvenile  Phenomenon." 


n8  Vagabond  Adventures. 

Now  this  guitar-player  was  in  reality  the  longest, 
lankest,  and  by  all  odds  the  homeliest  man  in  the 
company ;  and  how  the  public  should  ever  mis- 
take him  for  me,  the  only  original  "  Juvenile  Phe- 
nomenon," was  more  than  I  could  understand. 

Looking  back  dimly  through  my  memory  at 
this  picture,  and  aided  as  I  am  in  my  criticism  by 
a  recent  interview  with  the  venerable  artist  him- 
self, I  am  led  to  conclude  now,  that  he  had  ideal- 
ized and  etherealized  the  form  of  that  tallest  and 
ugliest  of  guitar-players.  As  represented  on  the 
canvas,  "  touching  his  light  guitar,"  with  his  eyes 
turned  upward  in  a  Sapphic  ecstasy,  there  was 
something  so  gigantically  heroic  in  the  spirit  of 
his  action,  or  in  the  blunder  of  the  painter,  that 
his  body  seemed  in  comparison  to  weigh  but  a 
scant  ninety  pounds,  and  all  that  was  earthly  in 
his  appearance  was,  it  must  be  owned,  strikingly 
diminutive  and  phenomenal. 

Notwithstanding  the  annoyance  caused  m'e  by 
the  mistake  of  the  common  public  in  the  matter 
of  identity,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  unjust  to  our  artist. 
He  is  still  living,  at  Cincinnati,  a  gray-haired  man, 
supporting  a  large  family  by  the  honorable  exer- 
cise of  his  brush  ;  though  of  late  years  he  has  con- 


The  Fate  of  the  Serenaders.        119 

fined  himself  mostly,  he  assures  me,  to  the  more 
materialistic  and  lucrative  branch  of  his  profes- 
sion, —  house  and  sign  painting,  namely. 

With  regard  to  the  picture  in  question,  he  said, 
the  last  time  I  saw  him,  that  in  it  he  had  made  an 
attempt,  if  he  remembered  correctly,  to  throw  an 
ideal  halo  of  high  art  about  some  of  the  portraits  ; 
that  the  tall  guitar-player  was  a  special  instance 
wherein  this  treatment  seemed  necessary ;  and 
that,  in  all  his  artistic  experience,  he  had  never 
since  come  across  a  man  that  would  stand  so 
much  foreshortening. 

The  latter  part  of  the  old  painter's  speech  about 
the  guitar-player  was  in  a  different  tone  of  voice 
altogether,  and  in  words  which,  from  their  queer 
pathos,  I  think  I  am  reporting  verbatim. 

"  Poor ! "  he  said,  calling  my  old  comrade  by 

name  ;  "  he  has  long  since  gone  to  his  account.  I 
suppose  we  must  all  go  sooner  or  later."  Then, 
after  a  meditative  pause,  the  old  fellow  continued  : 
"  No  man  is  homely,  I  guess,  in  heaven,  or  too 
long  and  bony  for  good  proportion.  They  say, 
too,  that  there 's  progression  up  there.  He  died 
more  than  ten  years  ago.  Maybe  he 's  now  im- 
proving his  talent  by  playing  on  a  golden  harp. 


I2O  Vagabond  Adventures. 

He   was  n't  much  of  a  guitar-player  down  here, 
but  no  matter." 


There  was  in  our  troupe  a  remarkable  charac- 
ter by  the  name  of  Frank  Lynch,  who  played  the 
tambourine  and  banjo.  He  and  the  celebrated 
Diamond  had  been  in  their  youth  among  the 
first  and  greatest  of  dancers.  Too  portly  now  to 
endure  sustained  effort  with  his  feet,  he  was  yet 
an  excellent  instructor ;  and  I  was  constantly 
under  his  training. 

He  taught  me,  in  addition  to  the  legitimate 
sleights  of  our  calling,  to  aid  him  in  a  droll  way 
he  had  of  amusing  himself  at  the  expense  of  the 
general  public.  He  initiated  me  into  the  mys- 
teries of  beating  the  rolls  and  drags  on  the  snare- 
drum  ;  and  then  it  was  our  custom  of  a  summer 
afternoon  to  steal  away  to  the  top  of  the  hotel, 
or  more  generally  to  the  roof  of  the  hall  where 
we  were  to  exhibit.  Placing  ourselves  so  that  we 
could  observe  the  passers-by  on  the  street,  with- 
out being  observed  by  them,  Lynch  would  strike 
up  a  tune  on  the  fife  and  I  would  accompany  him 
on  the  drum ;  and,  straightway,  the  whole  thor- 
oughfare for  a  block  or  so  in  each  direction  would 
keep  time  to  our  music. 


The  Fate  of  the  Serenaders        121 

If  was  our  delight  to  set  our  people  all  a  going 
faster  or  slower,  at  our  will.  Curious  persons  would 
sometimes  look  aoout  them,  puzzled,  to  see  where 
the  music  came  from  ;  but,  failing  in  that,  they 
almost  invariably  marched  on  to  some  brisk  or 
melancholy  measure,  as  it  chanced  to  be  our  mood  « 
at  the  moment.  Any  one  who  may  doubt  this 
statement  has  but  to  observe  the  foot-passengers 
the  next  time  he  or  she  hears  a  band  of  music 
playing  on  the  street. 

It  would  sometimes  happen,  however,  that  our 
notice  would  be  attracted  by  the  peculiar  walk  of  an 
individual  who  had  so  little  music  in  his  soul  that 
we  could  not  bring  him  into  step.  In  that  case  we 
would  perform  Mohammed's  miracle  of  the  moun- 
tain, by  accommodating  our  fife  and  drum  to  his 
particular  gait,  and  bring  the  rest  of  the  street 
into  the  same  pace. 

'  If  we  savfr  an  elderly  gentleman  or  lady,  Lynch 
would  immediately  launch  forth  into  the  well- 
known  "limping  tune"  of  the  old  man  in  the 
pantomime,  and,  as  sure  as  fate,  our  venerable 
actor  or  actress  below  would  keep  time.  The 
conventional  air  which  heralds  in  Columbine 
on  the  Christmas  boards  was  also  brought  into 
6 


122  Vagabond  Adventures. 

requisition,  with  most  remarkable  effect,  when 
we  caught  sight  of  a  young  lady  or  bevy  of 
young  ladies,  promenading  beneath  us  in  spruce" 

toilet.  * 

> 

On  a  hot  day  I  am  afraid  we  were  sometimes 
a  trifle  cruel  in  the  way  we  hurried  up  fleshy  peo- 
ple. From  our  point  of  view  on  the  roof,  and 
generally  behind  a  shady  chimney,  the  effect  was, 
in  truth,  not  unlike  that  of  a  diorama.  But  espe- 
cially was  this  the  case  when  some  stout  old  gen- 
tleman, whom  we  had  precipitated  along  a  whole 
block  at  a  very  lively,  perspiring  rate  through  a 
hot  sun,  would,  as  if  melted  or  absolved  in  the 
white  light,  disappear  suddenly  from  our  gaze,  as 
a  brisk  and  fiery  execution  of  "The  girl  I  left 
behind  me"  would  carry  him  steaming  around  a 
corner. 

In  short,  our  martial  music  was  an  endless 
amusement  to  us  when  time  hung  heavy  on  the 
hands  of  the  more  dignified  members  of  our  com- 
pany. By  some  accident,  I  forget  what,  we  lost 
our  small  drum,  and  were  afterward  confined  to  a 
fife  and  a  bass-drum.  This,  I  think,  only  made 
the  effect  of  our  music  more  ludicrous  in  develop- 
ing the  peculiarities  of  individual  pedestrians. 


The  Fate  of  the  Serenaders.        123 

Lynch  seemed,  I  remember,  more  than  ever  satis- 
fied in  this  exigency,  for  he  stoutly  maintained 
that  any  two  faces  are  more  alike  than  any  two 
"gaits,"  and  that,  for  his  part,  he  always  wanted  the 
top  of  a  house,  a  fife,  and  at  least  a  bass-drum  to 
read  character. 

Lynch  and  I  were  together  in  another  troupe 
afterward.  I  never  knew  him,  in  all  the  time  of 
our  association,  to  talk  ten  minutes  without  tell- 
ing some  story,  and  that  always  about  something 
which  had  happened  to  him  personally  in  the 
show  business.  In  the  long  nights,  when  we  had 
to  wait  for  cars  or  steamboats,  he  would  sit  down, 
and,  taking  up  one  theme,  would  string  all  his 
stories  on  that,  and  that  alone,  for  hours.  His 
manner  would  make  the  merest  commonplace 
amusing. 

We  had  been  together  a  year  or  more,  I  think, 
when  Barnum's  Autobiography  came  out.  I  shall 
never  forget  my  comrade's  indignation  when  he 
read  that  passage  of  the  book  which  runs  some- 
thing in  this  way  :  "  Here  I  picked  up  one  Francis. 
Lynch,  an  orphan  vagabond,'*  &c.,  &c.  It  was 
really  dangerous  after  that  for  a  man  to  own,  in 
his  presence,  to  having  read  the  life  of  the  great 


124  Vagabond  Adventures. 

showman.  Henceforth,  Lynch  omitted  all  his 
stories  about  the  time  when  he  and  P.  T.  Barnum 
used  to  black  their  faces  together. 
•  Lynch  professed  to  live  in  Boston,  though  he 
had  not  been  there  in  fifteen  years.  During  all 
this  time  he  had  been  earnestly  trying  to  get 
back  to  his  home.  He  would  often  spend  money 
enough  in  a  night  to  take  him  to  Boston  from 
almost  any  place  in  the  broad  Union,  and  back 
again,  and  then  lament  his  folly  for  the  next 
week. 

Once  he  left  our  company  at  Cleveland,  Ohio, 
for  the  express  purpose  of  going  back  to  Boston. 
Unfortunately  a  night  intervened,  and  in  the  mid- 
dle of  it  the  whole  Weddell  House  was  aroused 
from  its  slumbers  by  poor  Lynch,  in  the  last  stage 
of  intoxication,  vociferating  at  the  top  of  his  lungs 
that  he  had  been  robbed  of  the  money  with  which 
he  was  going  back  to  Boston. 

By  some  means  he  had  got  hold  of  a  lighted 
candle  without  a  candlestick,  and  with  this  he 
purposed  to  search  the  house.  The  clerks  and 
porters  were  called  out  of  bed,  and,  led  by  Lynch 
with  his  flickering  taper,  came  in  melancholy  pro- 
cession up  the  long  stairs  to  the  rooms  occupied 


The  Fate  of  the  Serenaders,        125 

by  our  troupe.  Lynch  insisted  that  we  should 
all  be  searched,  —  a  whim  in  which,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, we  thought  it  best  to  humor  him. 
This  having  been  done  without  finding  his  lost 
treasure,  he  bolted  the  doors  and  proceeded  to 
examine  the  surprised  clerks  and  porters.  Meet- 
ing with  the  same  ill  success,  he  finally  threw 
himself  in  despair  upon  his  bed,  and  wailed  him- 
self to  sleep. 

The  next  morning  he  found  all  the  money 
which  he  had  not  spent  in  the  side  pocket  of  his 
overcoat,  where  he  had  carelessly  thrust  it  him- 
self. And  his  joy  was  so  great  at  this,  and  his 
sorrow  so  lively  when  told  that  he  had  searched 
us  all,  that  he  insisted  on  spending  what  money- 
was  left  to  celebrate  his  good  luck  and  the  tri- 
umph of  our  honesty. 

Lynch  never  got  back  to  Boston.  He  died  sev- 
eral years  ago  somewhere  out  in  the  far  West. 
Since  then  it  has  transpired  that  Barnum  was 
wrong  in  calling  him  an  orphan,  at  least ;  for  his 
.  father  sought  him  a  long  time  before  hearing  of 
his  death,  to  bestow  upon  the  poor  fellow  a  con- 
siderable fortune  that  had  been  left  him  by  some 
relative.  * 


126  Vagabond  Adventures. 

Johnny  Booker  was  the  stage-manager  of  the 
company  with  which  I  left  Toledo.  Our  first 
business-manager  and  proprietor  was  a  noble- 
hearted  fellow,  who  has  since  distinguished  him- 
self as  a  colonel  in  the  late  war ;  but  the  manager- 
ship changed  hands  after  a  while,  and  we  finally 
arrived  at  Pittsburg.  Here  we  played  a  week  to 
poor  houses,  and,  one  morning,  awoke  to  find  that 
our  manager  had  decamped  without  paying  our 
hotel  bills. 

When  this  became  known,  through  the  papers 
or  *in  some  other  way,  the  landlord,  got  out  an 
attachment  on  our  baggage.  The  troupe  was 
disbanded,  of  course.  When,  therefore,  I  desired 
'to  take  my  trunk  and  go  home,  the  hotel-keeper 
told  me  that  I  could  do  so  as  soon  as  I  paid 
the  bills  of  the  whole  company.  This  was  appal- 
ling. 

After  a  great  deal  of  wrangling,  the  landlord 
was  convinced  at  last  that  he  could  hold  us  re- 
sponsible only  for  our  individual  indebtedness. 
Accordingly  Mr.  Booker,  Mr.  Kneeland,  a  violin- 
ist, and  myself  were  allowed  to  pay  our  bills  and 
depart  with  our  baggage. 

I  never  learned  exactly  how  the  greater  part  of 


The  Fate  of  the  Serenaders.        127 

the  company  escaped,  but  it  certainly  could  not 
have  been  by  discharging  their  accounts  ;  for  they 
were  generally  of  that  reckless  disposition  which 
scorns  to  have  any  cash  on  hand,  or  to  remember 
where  it  has  been  deposited. 

The  sentimental  ballad-singer,  —  the  one  who 
was  the  most  careful  of  his  scarfs,  the  set  of  his 
attire,  and  the  combing  and  curling  of  his  hair ; 
and  who  used  to  volunteer  to  stand  at  the  door 
in  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  and  pass  pro- 
grammes to  the  ladies  as  they  came  into  the  hall, 
—  this  languishing  fellow,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  was 
obliged  to  leave  his  trunks  and  the  greater  part 
of  his  wardrobe  behind  him  in  the  hands  of  the 
inexorable  landlord. 

Frank  Lynch  had  led  this  nomadic  life  so  long 
that  he  never  carried  any  trunk  with  him.  He 
had  already  sacrificed  too  much,  he  averred,  to 
the  rapaciousness  of  hotel-keepers  and  the  villany 
of  fly-by-night  managers.  He  contented  himself, 
therefore,  with  two  champagne-baskets,  one  of 
which,  containing  his  stage  wardrobe,  always  went 
directly  to  the  hall  where  we  were  to  play,  while 
the  other,  containing  his  linen,  went  to  the  hotel, 
where,  in  company  with  the  baggage  of  the  whole 
troupe,  it  excited  no  suspicion. 


128  Vagabond  Adventures. 

Whether  or  not  Lynch  left  one  of  his  cham- 
pagne-baskets with  the  Pittsburg  landlord  I  can-- 
not  say.  I  am  sure,  however,  when  we  met  after- 
ward, I  could  not  detect  that  his  wardrobe  had 
diminished  in  the  least.  Indeed,  there  was  this 
remarkable  quality  about  the  two  champagne- 
baskets,  in  which  the  convivial  peripatetic  may  be 
said  to  have  lived,  that  their  contents  never 
seemed  either  to  diminish  or  increase. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  TRIALS  AND  TRIUMPHS  OF  THE  "BOOKER 
TROUPE." 


/nr*HE  two  gentlemen  with  whom  I  left  Pitts- 
-*•  burg  accompanied  me  to  Toledo,  \yhere  Mr. 
Booker  set  to  work  to  get  up  another  company. 
It  was  not  long  till  we  heard  of  Lynch  at  Cin- 
cinnati in  search  of  an  engagement,*  and  he  was 
accordingly  sent  for.  Mr.  Edwin  Deaves,  also  a 
member  of  the  defunct  "  Serenaders,"  —  and  now, 
by  the  way,  a  gray-haired  wood-engraver  and 
scenic  artist  at  San  Francisco,  —  was  brought 
from  some  other  place,  and  the  "  Booker  Troupe  " 
set  out  on  its  travels. 

This  company  prided  itself  on  its  sobriety  and 
gentlemanly  conduct.  It  was  the  business  of  the 
four  other  members  to  keep  poor  Lynch  straight, 
and  if,  in  the  endeavor,  some  of  them  occasionally 
fell  themselves,  it  was  put  down  to  the  reckless 
good-fellowship  of  the  merry  veteran,  and  hushed 
up  as  expeditiously  as  possible. 


130  Vagabond  Adventures. 

There  were  so  few  of  us  that  we  could  afford  to 
go  to  smaller  towns  than  the  other  troupe  had  ever 
visited.  It  was  deemed  a  goed  advertisement,  as 
well  as  in  some  metaphysical  way  conducive  to 
the  morale  of  the  company,  to  dress  as  nearly  alike 
as  we  could  when  off  the  stage.  This  had  the 
effect,  as  will  be  readily  understood,  of  pointing 
me  out  more  prominently  than  ever  as  the  juve- 
nile prodigy  whose  portrait  and  assumed  name 
were  plastered  about  over  the  walls  of  the  towns 
and  cities  through  which  we  took  our  triumphal- 
march. 

The  first  part  of  our  performances  we  gave  with 
white  faces,  and  I  had  so  improved  my  opportuni- 
ties that  I  was  now  able  to  appear  as  the  Scotch 
girl  in  plaid  petticoats,  who  executes  the  inevitable 
Highland  Fling  in  such  exhibitions.  By  practis- 
ing in  my  room  through  many  tedious  days,  I 
learned  to  knock  and  spin  and  toss  about  the 
tambourine  on  the  end  of  my  forefinger ;  and, 
having  rehearsed  a  budget  of  stale  jokes,  I  was 
promoted  to  be  one  of  the  "  end-men  "  in  the  first 
part  of  the  negro  performances. 

Lynch,  who  could  do  anything,  from  a  solo  on 
the  penny  trumpet  to  an  obligato  on  the  double- 


The  "  Booker  JTroupe?  131 

bass,  was  at  the  same  time  advanced  to  play  the 
second  violin,  as  this  made  more  music  and  helped 
fill  up  the  stage. 

In  addition  to  my  jig,  I  now  appeared  in  all 
sorts  of  pas  de  deux,  took  the  principal  lady  part 
in  negro  ballets,  and  danced  "  Lucy  Long."  I  am 
told  that  I  looked  the  wench  admirably.  Indeed, 
I  have  always  considered  it  a  substantiation  of 
this  fact,  rather  than  an  evidence  of  his  maudlin 
condition,  that  a  year  or  so  subsequently  a 

planter  in  one  of  the  Southern  States  insisted  on 

* 

purchasing  me  from  the  door-tender,  at  one  of  our 
exhibitions.  The  price  he  offered  and  the  ear- 
nestness and  apparent  good  faith  in  which  he 
offered  it  were  so  flattering  that  I  have  always 
regretted  the  necessity  in  which  the  door-tender 
at  last  considered  himself,  of  kicking  that  planter 
down  stairs. 

The  "Booker  Troupe"  wandered  all  over  the 
Western  country,  travelling  at  all  hours  of  night 
and  day  and  in  all  manner  of  conveyances,  from 
the  best  to  the  worst.  The  life  was  so  exciting, 
and  I  was  so  young,  that  I  was  probably  as  happy 
as  an  itinerant  mortal  can  be  in  this  world  of 


132  Vagabond  Adventures. 

belated  railway-trains,  steamboat  explosions  and 
collisions,  and  runaway  stage-horses. 

In  the  smaller  cities  and  towns  we  would  some- 
times, "  by  particular  request,"  end  up  the  evening 
with  a  ball.  While  we  were  washing  the  burnt 
cork  from  our  faces,  the  ushers  would  remove  the 
seats,  and  for  a  certain  fee  those  ladies  anA  gen- 
tlemen who  delighted  in  the  dance  were  read- 
mitted to  the  hall.  Then  the  four  adults  of  the 
troupe,  attired  in  their  very  best  "  citizens'  dress," 
as  they  called  it,  would  discourse  music  for  the 
dancers. 

My  musical  incompetency  was  at  these  times  a 
signal  advantage  to  me,  for  I  was  left- free  to  go 
into  society.  I  danced  a  great  deal  and  with 
considerable  falat,  on  such  occasions.  My  salary, 
which  increased  gradually  with  my  progress  in 
the  "profession,"  was  at  this  period  squandered 
almost  entirely  upon  my  back.  I  was  under  the 
impression  that  my  importation  of  metropolitan 
cuts  and  fashions  into  those  provincial  places  was 
something-  altogether  killing.  My  jewelry,  if  I 
remember  well,  was  just  simply  astonishing  foi  a 
boy  of  my  age. 

From  these  towns  where  we  had  dancing-par- 


The  "Booker  Troupe?  133 

ties  I  always  went  away  with  love-affairs  on  my 
hands.  The  amount  of  gold  rings  which  I 
exchanged  with  young  ladies  between  the  ages 
of  eleven  and  thirteen  years  was,  to  say  the  least, 
extraordinary. 

Sunday  in  a  small  city  is  generally  a  heavy  day 
with  your  minstrel.  He  writes  to  his  wife,  if  he 
has  any,  or,  if  he  has  none,  he  practises  solos  on 
the  bass-viol  or  some  other  instrument  that  ought 
never  to  be  played  solo,  or  yawns  or  lounges  about 
the  common  room  of  the  company.  I  used  to 
pass  these  days,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  in  replying  to 
voluminous,  ill-spelt  correspondence  from  young 
persons  with  whom  I  had  danced,  a  week  or  so 
back  ;  and  if  I  happened  to  have  a  flame  in  the 
same  town,  I  would  go  to  church  with  the  very 
reprehensible  motive  of  seeing  her,  or  walking 
home  with  her. 

I  ought  to  have  known  that  this  was  highly 
improper  conduct,  even  if  the  simple  appearance 
of  a  negro-minstrel  at  church  had  not  almost 
invariably  produced  great  scandal  to  the  congre- 
gation. I  am  glad,  however,  to  be  able  to  add 
that  my  toilet  and  behavior  in  such  places  were 
always  scrupulously  careful. 


134  Vagabond  Adventures. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  quite  seemly  in  me 
to  tell  of  it,  but  during  the  past  winter  I  had  occa- 
sion to  lecture  in  a  town  which  had  once  been  the 
scene  of  one  of  these  erotic  exploits ;  and  there 
were  sitting  in  a  row  on  a  front  seat  in  the  audi- 
ence not  only  the  quondam  heroine  and  the  gen- 
tleman who  has  for  many  years  been  her  husband, 
but  her  father  and  mother,  and,  worst  of  all,  that 
brother  of  hers  who  intercepted  our  letters  and 
who  had  threatened  profanely  to  "  punch "  my 
"head."  Now,  although  our  attachment  had  been 
of  the  most  harmlessly  juvenile  kind,  the  reader 
will  imagine  my  embarrassment  when  I  had  the 
honor  of  an  introduction  to  this  whole  family,  and 
when  the  past  was  talked  over  by  them  in  the 
most  ruthlessly  philosophical  manner. 

At  a  certain  county-seat  in  Michigan  the 
"  Booker  Troupe  "  had  a  remarkable  bout  with  a 
moral  editor.  There-  must  be  many  persons  in 
that  county,  especially  of  the  legal  fraternity,  who 
yet  remember  at  least  the  catastrophe  of  the 
strange  affair.  This  is  the  way  it  happened,  as 
nearly  as  I  can  recall  it :  — 

There  were  two  weekly  papers  published  in 


The  "Booker  Troupe?  135 

that  town  at  the  time.  Our  agent  had  given  our 
advertisement  to  one  of  these  papers,  and  the  other 
without  authority  had  copied  it.  When  the  bills 
were  brought  to  be  paid,  that  of  the  paper  which 
had  printed  our  advertisement  without  warrant 
was  about  three  times  as  much  as  the  regular 
price,  or  as  the  other  paper  had  charged.  To  Mr. 
Booker's  remonstrance  it  was  answered  that  the 
exorbitant  bill  must  be  paid,  that  shows  were' 
immoral  things  anyway,  and  that  it  was  the  pur- 
pose of  that  particular  weekly  newspaper  to  put 
them  down.  This  was  the  moral  editor  who 
spoke. 

Mr.  Booker  offered  him  the  same  amount 'that 
the  other  paper  had  charged,  and  bluntly  refused 
to  give  a  cent  more.  The  moral  editor  would  not 
take  a  cent  less  than  his  first  charges,  and,  in 
default  of  immediate  payment,  would  get  out 
an  attachment. 

Now  the  constable,  in  common  with  most  of  the 
citizens,  sympathized  with  Mr.  Booker.  In  fact, 
the  red  nose  and  generally  dissipated  air  of  the 
moral  editor  made  decidedly  against  the  honesty 
of  his  intentions  as  a  missionary  of  reform.  And 
thus  it  happened,  by  some  intentional  delay  in  the 


136  Vagabond  Adventures. 

making  out  of  the  papers,  that  the  constable  and 
the  creditor  arrived  at  the  station  to  attach  our 
baggage  just  at  the  time  when  it  was  all  careful- 
ly stowed  away  in  the  baggage-car,  and  when  the 
train  was  moving  off  with  us  on  board. 

The  editor  in  great  rage,  notwithstanding  his 
mission  as  moral  censor,  indulged  in  a  great  deal 
of  profanity,  by  way  of  making  it  the  better  under- 
'  stood  that  he  would  follow  us  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  —  as  soon  as  he  could  get  the  proper  war- 
rant made  out. 

Our  next  stopping-place  was  a  brisk  little  town 
which  chanced  to  be  in  the  same  county.  We 
exhibited  there  and  slipped  away  to  our  next 
point  on  a  midnight  train,  leaving  Mr.  Booker 
behind  to  encounter  the  attachment/which,  from 
private  advices,  we  were  led  to  expect  the  follow- 
ing morning.  The  officer  accosted  Mr.  Booker 
as  he  was  getting  on  the  train,  and  asked  him  if 
an  old  weather-beaten  valise  which  he  carried  in 
his  hand  was  his.  It  was  ;  and  that  was  all  the 
baggage  he  had  with  him,  the  rest  having  gone 
on,  of  course,  with  us  by  the  night  train. 

With  imposing  formality  the  old  weather-beaten 
valise  was  attached.  The  key  was  also  given  up, 


The  "Booker  Troupe'"  137 

I  do  not  know  whether  to  the  officer  or  to  a  lawyer 
who  had  come  up  from  the  county-seat  to  advise 
us  'in  the  matter.  The  lawyer  then  and  there,  in 
the  presence  of  the  officer  and  of  the  interested 
spectators,  was  intrusted  formally  with  the  case; 
and,  Mr.  Booker  joining  us  in  a  few  hours  there- 
after, we  proceeded  unmolested  on  our  travels. 

The  justice  and  the  counsel  on  both  sides  seem 
to  have  entered  into  the  affair  with  the  design  of 
getting  all  the  sport  they  could  out  of  it.  On  the 
day  of  the  trial  the  court-room  was  thronged.  In 
the  absence  of  witnesses  for  the  defence,  and  I 
suppose  also  by  collusion,  the  case  went  against 
the  "  Booker  Troupe."  The  editor,  who  was  of 
course  present,  was  in  great  glee. 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  it  has  been 
related  —  I  know  not  how  truly  —  the  Justice 
arose,  and  in  the  most  solemn  manner  spoke 
of  the  case  as  peculiarly  aggressive  on  the  part 
of  a  company  of  itinerant  showmen ;  and  inas- 
much as  their  fellow-citizen  had  taken  it  upon 
himself,  single-handed,  to  drive  this  growing  evil 
out  of  the  land,  therefore  the  magistrate  ordered, 
although  it  was  a  little  informal,  that  the  consta- 
ble without  further  delay,  which  had  in  the  tardy 


138  Vagabond  Adventures. 

course  of  justice  been  too  long  already,  should 
in  the  presence  of  that  court  open  the  valise  and 
proceed  to  the  sale  of  its  contents. 

The  face  of  the  moral  editor  is  reported  to  have 
beamed  more  brightly  than  ever  at  this  stage  of 
his  triumph. 

With  much  pomp  and  circumstance  the  key 
was  produced,  and  the  ragged  valise  brought 
forward  and  opened.  As  nearly  as  I  can  remem- 
ber, from  having  been  present  at  the  packing,  and 
from  an  account  of  the  affair  sent  to  us  afterward, 
the  constable  then  began  with  grave  deliberation 
to  draw  forth  from  that  discouraged  old  portman- 
teau the  following  articles,  to  wit  :- 

i  large  brick, 

i  quart  of  beans, 

I  silk  hat,  without  rim  or  lining, 

3  Ibs.  potatoes,  —  which  latter  had  sprouted 
in  the  delays  of  justice, 

i  old  boot, 

i  letter  of  congratulation  to  the  moral  editor,  — 
which  was  read  in  open  court,  — 

And,  worst  of  all,  i  life-size  wood-cut  represen- 
tation of  Mr.  Booker  himself,  with  an  old  valise 
in  one  hand  and  a  superannuated  umbrella  in  the 


The  "Booker  Troupe"  139 

other,  as  he  was  wont  to  appear  in  his  wonderful 
plantation  act  of  "  The  Smoke-house  Reel." 

During  the  slow  exposure  of  each  of  these  arti- 
cles, one  after  the  other,  there  was  some  attempt 
to  keep  order  in  court,  but  by  the  time  the  last 
one  was  reached  even  the  attempt  was  aban- 
doned. The  scene  became  uproarious,  and  the 
court  was  adjourned! 

The  moral  editor  never  heard  the  last  of  it. 
He  was  forced  to  sell  out  his  reformatory  news- 
paper and  leave  the  town. 

We  were  on  our  way  east  from  Chicago,  exhib- 
iting at  the  towns  along  the  line  of  the  Michigan 
Central  Railroad,  when  Ephraim  came  to  us. 
Ephraim  was  one  of  the  most  comical  specimens 
of  the  negro  species.  We  were  playing  at  Mar- 
shall, Michigan,  -when  he  introduced  himself  to 
our  notice  by  bringing  water  into  the  dressing- 
room,  blacking  our  boots,  and  in  other  ways 
making  himself  useful. 

He  had  the  blackest  face,  largest  mouth,  and 
whitest  teeth  imaginable.  He  said  there  was 
nothing  in  the  world  which  he  would  like  so  well 
as  to  travel  with  a  show.  What  could  he  do  ? 


140  Vagabond  Adventures. 

Why,  he  could  fetch  water,  black  our  boots,  and 
take  care  of  our  baggage.  We  assured  him  that 
we  could  not  afford  to  have  a  servant  travel  with 
us.  Ephraim  rejoined  that  he  did  not  want  any 
pay  ;  he  just  wanted  to  go  with  the  show.  We 
told  him  it  was  simply  impossible ;  and  Ephraim 
went  away,  as  we  thought,  discouraged. 

The  next  morning,  as  we  Were  getting  into  the 
railway-car,  whom  should  we  discover  there  before 
us  but  Ephraim,  with  his  baggage  under  his  arm, 
—  a  glazed  travelling-bag  of  so  attenuated  an 
appearance  that  it  could  not  possibly  have  had 
anything  in  it  but  its  lining.  To  the  question  as 
to  whither  he  was  bound  he  replied,  "Why/bless 
you,  I 's  goin1  wid  de  show."  Again  he  was  told 
that  it  could  not  be,  and  made  to  get  out  of  the 
car.  * 

This  occurrence  gave  Mr.  Lynch  the  theme  for 
a  long  series  of  stories  about  people  he  had  met, 
who  were  what  he  called  "  show-struck " ;  and 
with  these  narratives  our  time  was  beguiled  till 
we  reached  the  town  at  which  we  were  to  perform 
that  night.  As  we  walked  out  towards  the  bag- 
gage-car, what  was  our  surprise  to  see  Ephraim 
there,  picking  out  and  piling  up  our  trunks,  and 


The  "Booker  Troupe"'  141 

bestowing  sundry  loud  and  expressive  epithets 
upon  the  baggage-master,  who  had  let  a  property- 
box  fall  upon  the  platform. 

I  think  we  laughed  louder  now  than  we  had 
at  any  ,of  Mr.  Lynch's  stories.  Ephraim  deigned 
not  to  notice  us  or  our  mirth,  but,  having  picked 
out  the  baggage  that  went  to  the  hall  where  we 
were  to  exhibit,  he  called  a  dray  and'  rode  away 
with  it.  * 

He  made  himself  of  great  use  during  our  stay 
in  that  place,  in  return  for  which  his  slight  hotel 
expenses  were  paid  ;  but  he  was  told  positively 
"  that  he  could  go  no  farther.  We  knew  that  he 
had  no  money,  yet  did  not  dare  to  give  him  any, 
lest  he  should  be  enabled  to  follow  us  to  the  next 
town.  So,  when  we  came  to  go  away,  we  ex- 
pressed our  regrets  to  the  ingenuous  darky,  and 
once  more  bade  him  good  by.  He  disappeared 
in  the  crowd,  and  the  train  moved  off.  . 

When  we  arrived  at  the  next  town,  however, 
there  again  was  Ephraim,  at  the  baggage-car, 
giving  his  stentorian  commands  about  our  trunks 
and  properties,  and  taking  not  the  least  notice  of 
the  surprise  depicted  on  our  faces. 

The  discharge  and  mysterious  reappearance  of 
ii  p 


142  Vagabond  Adventures. 

Ephraim  occurred  in  about  the  same  manner  at 
every  town  along  the  road  until  we  reached  De- 
troit. We  never  could  find  out  how  he  got  from 
place  to  place  on  the  cars  ;  but  where  our  bag- 
gage was,  there  was  Ephraim  also.  We  had  to 
succumb.  His  persistency  and  faithfulness  and 
perfect  good-nature  carried  the  point ;  and  he  be- 
came a  regular  attache  of  the  "  Booker  Troupe." 

The  story  of  the  fights  and  beatings  that  poor 
Ephraim  sustained  in  his  jealous  care  of  our  lug- 
gage woulcl  alone  make  a  long  chapter.  He  was 
always  at  fisticuffs  with  the  Irish  porters  of  the 
hotels.  On  one  occasion,  when  remonstrated  with  < 
for  his  excessive  pugnacity,  Ephraim  explained 
himself  in  this  way :  <f  For  one  slam  of  a  trunk  I 
gen'lly  speaks  to  a  man  ;  for  two  slams  I  calls 
him  a  thief;  and  when  it  comes  to  three  slams, 
den  dere  's  gwine  to  be  somebody  knocked  down. 
Now  you  heered  me!" 

On  our  arrival  at  the  hotel  in  Detroit  we 
observed  that  the  porter  was  an  Irishman,  and 
were  really  surprised  that  he  and  Ephraim  did 
not  quarrel  in  handling  the  baggage,  —  an 
anomaly  which  was  satisfactorily  explained  to 
us  afterward,  by  the  fact  that  the  porter  had 


The  "Booker  Troupe":  143 

lately  come  to  this  country,  and  was,  moreover, 
only  about  half  witted.  Now  Ephraim  was  in 
the  habit  of  taking  his  meals  in  the  kitchens, 
and  of  sleeping  in  whatever  attic  was  assigned 
him.  On  our  first  night  in  Detroit  he  had  been 
sent  into  the  servants'  chamber,  somewhere  in 
the  topmost  part  of  the  hotel.  Ephraim  ascend- 
ed, disrobed  himself,  and,  with  his  usual  reckless- 
ness, got  into  the  first  of  the  many  beds  he  saw 
in  the  large  room. 

At  twelve  o'clock,  when  his  watch  was  over, 
the  Irish  porter  also  proceeded  to  the  same 
apartment,  with  the  purpose  of  retiring.  Open- 
ing the  door,  he  discovered  by  the  dim  gaslight 
something  dark  on  the  pillow  of  his  own  bed. 
This  brought  all  his  Old- World  superstition  into 
play  in  a  moment.  Going  as  much  nearer  as  he 
dared,  he  saw  that  it  was  a  black  head,  and,  be- 
lieving firmly  that  the  Devil  was  black,  he  was 
sure  that  the  Devil  was  in  his  bed. 

The  affrighted  porter  gave  an  unearthly  yelp, 
at  which  Ephraim  started  up  in  terror.  Where- 
upon the  Irishman  seized  one  of  the  negro's 
boots  from  the  floor  by  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and 
fell  to  beating  the  supposed  Devil  over  the  head 


144  Vagabond  Adventures. 

with  all  his  might.  The  attack  was  so  sudden 
that  Ephraim  never  thought  of  defence,  but, 
springing  to  his  feet,  fled  precipitately  down  the 
six  flights,  of  stairs,  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
street,  crying,  "  Watch,  watch  ! "  at  the  top  of 
his  voice.  Here  a  policeman  came  along,  and 
took  poor  Ephraim  off  to  the  station-house  just 
as  he  was,  and  in  spite  of  all  his  protestations  of 
innocence. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Booker  carried  his 
clothes  to  the  unfortunate  negro,  and  brought 
him  back  to  the  hotel. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE    LAST    OF   THE    "BOOKER   TROUPE." 

T  N  the  course  of  time  the  "  Booker  Troupe  " 
-^  was  disbanded,  and  Ephraim,  as  well  as  our- 
selves, was,  in  green-room  parlance,  out  of  an 
engagement.  I  never  saw  him  or  Lynch  after- 
ward. Mr.  Edwin  Deaves,  as  I  have  intimated, 
is  an  industrious  maker  of  wood-cuts  and  painter 
of  transparencies  and  theatrical  illusions  in  San 
Francisco.  He  was  the  gentlemanly  "middle 
man"  and  barytone  of  this  company.  I  never 
met  him  professionally  after  our  disbanding.  He 
went  to  California,  I  believe,  with  the  late  Samuel 
Wells,  in  the  same  troupe  with  Messrs.  Birch  and 
Backus. 

Deaves  was  a  very  handsome  man  in  the  old 
days  of  our  association.  His  jet-black  hair  never 
required  a  wig  at  that  time,  except  when  he  de- 
sired to  personate  some  terrible  impresario  in 
burlesque  opera.  Then  he  would  invest  himself 
7.  J 


146  Vagabond  Adventures. 

in  one  of  buffalo-robe,  and  would  roar  with  such 
unexampled  fierceness  that  our  tin  horns  would 
ring  again  with  the  mere  echoes  of  his  power- 
ful* voice. 

He  was  a  man  of  great  versatility.  I  would 
not  like  to  say  exactly  what  he  could  not  do, 
from  the  invention  of  a  patent  soap  to  the  plot- 
ting of  a  new  pantomime.  The  words  and  music 
of  some  of  the  most  widely  known  of  the  old 
negro  melodies  are  of  his  composition. 

But  as  I  saw  him  last  with  his  large  family 
around  him,  at  San  Francisco,  it  was  evident  that, 
if  he  should  ever  go  back  from  his  present  con- 
tented, peaceful  life  into  the  checkered  uncer- 
tainties of  cork  opera,  he  would  have  to  wear  a 
wig,  unless  he  confined  himself  exclusively  to  "old 
man's  parts."  His  hair  has  long  since  faded,  and 
he  would,  I  fear,  have  also  to  use  a  tin  horn  him- 
self, to  produce  the  startling  echoes  of  his  whilom 
unaided  voice. 

With  Mr.  Kneeland,  the  violinist  and  musical 
director  of  the  "  Booker  Troupe,"  I  travelled 
subsequently  in  two  other  companies.  As  I 
shall  have  no  occasion  to  mention  him  again,  I 


Ihe  "Booker  Troupe"  147 

will  say  here  that  he  was  a  quiet,  modest  sort 
of  fellow,  who  had  a  remarkable  talent  for  sleep- 
ing. That  man  could  sleep  at  any  time  and  in 
any  place.  If  he  happened  to  be  forgotten  in 
the  hurry  of  changing  conveyances,  —  which  was 
not  infrequently  the  case,  —  he  was  sure  to  be 
left  snoring  in  some  waiting-room,  or  crouched 
down  among  the  cushions  in  some  railway  coach, 
with  his  violin-box  for  a  pillow. 

He  alone  always  played  for  my  jigs  and  horn- 
pipes ;  and  as  I  used  to  get  a  side  view  of  him  on 
the  stage,  with  his  eyes  shut  and  his  heel  beating 
the  measure  pf  the  ecstasy  which  at  such  mo- 
ments travelled,  for  instance,  "  The  rocky  road  to 
Dublin,"  away  up  into  the  cirrus  heaven  of  the 
octaves,  I  was  more  than  once  impressed  with 
the  annoying  belief  that  he  was  asleep,  or  soon 
would  be,  and  that  I  should  have  to  complete  my 
grand  finale  of  wings  and  shuffles  to  the  uncertain 
fugue  of  his  snoring. 

Whether  he  ever  did  fall  asleep  or  not  on  the 
stage  I  cannot  tell  for  sure  ;  but,  asleep  or  awake, 
he  always  managed  to  keep  better  time  than 
I  did. 

He   practised    DeBdriot's   "Seventh  Air"  for 


148  Vagabond  Adventures. 

six  months  almost  constantly  in  his  room,  never 
to  my  knowledge  venturing  to  play  it  in  public. 
Now  his  room  was  generally  the  next  one  to  mine, 
and  I  have  often  wished,  after  three  or  four  steady 
hours  of  De  Beriot,  that  Mr.  Kneeland  would  fall 
asleep ;  yet  by  a  strange  fatality  he  never  did, 
unless  there  was  some  likelihood  of  his  being  left 
behind. 

Nevertheless,  Kneeland  was,  by  all  odds,  the 
best-natured  and  the  most  substantial  man  of 
the  "Booker  Troupe."  He  is  now,  I  hear,  the 
thrifty  and  honest  possessor  of  a  goodly  farm  in 
Wisconsin,  where  he  lives  with  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren. Of  late  years,  it  is  only  when  the  crops  are 
poor  or  the  monotony  of  rural  pursuits  leaves  him 
open  to  the  temptation,  that  he  abandons  his 
plough,  like  another  sturdy  Cincinnatus,  to  give 
his  services  to  the  public.  Then  for  a  brief  sum- 
mer he  will,  it  is  said,  sally  forth  to  lead  the 
brass  and  string  band  of  some  circus  or  men- 
agerie to  the  conquest  of  bucolic  or  urban  ears, 
and  fractional  currency. 

After  a  whole  season  of  ovations,  in  which  cap- 
tive elephants  and  camels  and  lions,  or  superb 
band-wagons  and  "  grand  entries"  and  bare-back 


The  "Booker  Trouper  149 

equestrians,  have  moved  to  the  time  of  his  music, 
the  honest  Kneeland  goes  back  to  his  cows  and 
sheep  and  domestic  hearth,  and  is  happy. 

Johnny  Booker  still  lives.  I  meet  him  every 
few  years  in  the  most  out-of-the-way  and  unex- 
pected places.  He  confines  himself  now,  I 
believe,  exclusively  to  the  circus  or  menagerie 
business.  One  or  the  other  branch  of  this  style 
of  tent-life  seems,  by  the  way,  to  be  the  ultimate 
refuge  of  your  old  showman,  —  the  last  stage  of 
his  worldly  transmigrations. 

Some  seasons  I  will  come  across  Mr.  Booker  in 
the  very  heart  of  this  continent,  convulsing  a 
rural  community  with  the  sparkling  manner  in 
which  he  will  answer,  as  clown,  to  the  conven- 
tional, "  This  way,  Mr.  Merryman  ;  ask  the  young 
lady  what  she  will  have  now."  At  other  seasons 
and  on  the  remotest  rim  of  our  territorial  posses- 
sions, I  will  be  astonished  to  recognize  him  in  the 
magniloquent  ring-master  who  inflicts  the  lashes 
upon  the  painted  clown,  and  who  acts  the  part  of 
the  Greek  chorus,  explaining  the  jokes  of  that 
amusing  fellow  in  the  choicest  Doric  of  our 
language. 


150  Vagabond  Adventures. 

I  have  even  known  him  to  deliver  a  moral  and 
instructive  lecture  on  the  nature  and  habits  of  the 
elephant,  in  a  "grand  combination"  menagerie. 
Indeed,  it  was  his  custom,  every  afternoon  and 
evening,  to  discourse  on  this  branch  of  natural 
history  when  I  last  met  my  old  friend  and 
instructor  in  minstrelsy.  He  took  great  interest 
in  his  elephant,  and  especially  in  a  living  hippo- 
potamus, which  was  the  ruling  attraction  of  his 
establishment,  —  just  as  he  had  once,  I  am 
bound  in  gratitude  to  say,  taken  great  interest 
in  me. 

My  place  as  his  pupil  was  just  then  usurped  by 
a  small  Irish  lad,  whom  he  pointed  out  to  me,  in 
an  expansive  feminine  wig  of  flaxen  curls  and  in 
puerile  tights  and  tunic,  with  a  most  formidable 
gold-foil  battle-axe  in  one  hand,  and  the  Ameri- 
can flag  in  the  other ;  personating,  as  Mr.  Booker 
assured  me,  a  water-nymph,  on  the  silver-scaled 
but  somewhat  shaky  chariot  of  Neptune. 

This  imposing  car  of  the  sea-god,  I  need 
scarcely  add,  formed  part  of  the  procession  as  it 
entered  town,  headed  by  the  elephant,  the  living 
hippopotamus,  and  a  brass-band  seemingly  on  the 
point  of  death,  so  red  and  distended  was  the  face 


The  "Booker  Troupe?  151 

of  each  strangling  musician,  and  so  nearly  did 
each  appear  to  have  "  poured  through  the  mellow 
horn  his  pensive  soul." 

The  procession  was  still  passing  the  balcony  of 
the  hotel  on  which  we  were  standing,  when  Mr. 
Booker  confided  to  me  very  gravely  that  his  pres- 
ent pupil  did  not  give  him  satisfaction.  "  He 
will  never  be  a  performer/'  said  the  thoughtful 
veteran  ;  "  I  don't  know  what  I  can  make  of  that 
boy,  for,"  pursued  Mr.  Booker,  with  his  mind 
evidently  more  upon  his  pupil  than  upon  me,  — 
"for  I  don't  think  he  is  even  fit  to  write  books." 

My  former  manager  at  this  moment  became 
so  suddenly  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  a 
large  spot  on  the  very  masculine  tunic  of  his 
charge,  the  water-nymph,  'that  he  did  not  notice 
how  frank  he  had  been  with  me.  It  is  due,  how- 
ever, to  the  magnanimity  of  Mr.  Booker  to  say, 
that,  whatever  may  be  his  private  opinion  of  liter- 
ature and  of  my  change  of  profession,  we  are, 
and  I  hope  always  shall  be,  the  most  devoted 
of  friends. 

Whenever  we  meet  he  is  sure  to  startle  me 
with  a  new  batch  of  reminiscences  of  our  old-time 
companionship.  What  puzzles  me  most  is  that,  as 


152  Vagabond  Adventures. 

he  advances  in  years,  his  accounts  of  my  youth- 
ful exploits  grow  more  extended  and  apocryphal. 
He  has  long  since  in  these  "narratives  got  out  of 
the  horizon  of  my  memory.  I  would  not  for  the 
world  accuse  my  old  instructor  of  a  want  of  can- 
dor, but  I  must  say  I  think  he  has  confounded 
me  with  other  and  later  of  his  pupils. 

It  would  be  as  useless  as  ill-mannered  to  con- 
tradict him,  for  he  has  told  these  stories  so  often 
that  he  believes  them  implicitly  himself.  Any 
unbiassed  mind,  moreover,  will  find  excuse  for  the 
treachery  of  his  memory  in  the  devious  and  ex- 
citing course  of  his  subsequent  life,  as  corypheus 
of  the  saw-dusty  ring,  and  especially  as  the  zo- 
ologist of  the  living  hippopotamus,  and  as  the 
moral  lecturer  upon  the  manners  and  customs  of 
the  elephant. 

I  shall,  however,  in  closing  this  account  of  the 
"  Booker  Troupe,"  give  a  couple  of  condensed 
samples  which  will,  I  think,  of  themselves  explain 
why  I  indulge  in  no  more  of  Mr.  Booker's  stories 
about  myself.  I  give  them  as  a  simple  act  of  jus- 
tice to  my  old  comrades.  Having  related  my 
reminiscences  of  them  with  great  freedom,  it  is  no 
more  than  fair  that  one  of  them,  at  least,  should 
be  heard  against  me. 


The  "Booker  Troupe"  153 

While  admitting  that  a  boy  of  thirteen  may  not 
have  all  the  discretion  in  the  world,  still  I  here-    » 
with  enter  the  solemn   protest   of  my  memory 
against  the  facts  of  the  following  statements. 

Mr.  Booker  says  that  in  the  course  of  our 
travels  we  came  to  a  city  where  I  had  relatives, ' 
and  that  I  took  occasion,  as  the  best  means  of  im- 
pressing them  with  my  prosperity  and  indepen- 
dence, to  appear  in  a  different  suit  of  clothes  as 
often  as  I  visited  them,  which  was  two  or  three 
times  a  day. 

He  furthermore  relates  with  appalling  circum- 
stantiality, that  at  a  select  "  hop  "  after  our  per- 
formances in  some  quiet  little  city,  my  attention 
was  attracted  by  a  very  pretty  young  lady  who 
seemed  to  be  the  belle  of  the  evening.  With  the 
interested  swagger  of  a  young  blood  of  thirteen 
years,  I  asked  who  that  "  fine  girl "  was.  I  was 
told  that  she  was  a  certain  Miss  So-and-so,  whom, 
for  the  sake  of  Mr.  Booker's  story,  we  will  call 
Miss  Brown  ;  and  that  she  was  of  a  very  respect- 
able family  in  that  city. 

« 

Now  it  happened  in  the  course  of  our  wander- 
ings that,  from  motives  of  curiosity,  charity,  and 
advertisement  combined,  we  always  visited   the 
7* 


154  Vagabond  Adventures. 

state-prisons  which  chanced  to  be  in  our  route, 
and  sang  and  played  to  the  prisoners,  generally 
while,  they  were  assembled  at  dinner.  And  I 
may  add  here,  by  way  of  parenthesis,  that  never 
elsewhere  have  I  witnessed  so  wonderful  an  illus- 
tration of  the  power  of  music  as  greeted  us  on 
such  occasions.  Hundreds  would  change  from 
laughter  to  tears,  and  from  tears  to  laughter  again, 
as  the  song  or  strain  was  merry  or  sad.  Two  or 
three  weeks  before  the  time  of  Mr.  Booker's  story 
we  had,  he  says,  visited  one  of  these  prisons,  and 
we  had  all  become  very  much  interested  in  the 
case  of  a  handsome  young  fellow  who  had  just 
been  brought  there  for  some  crime  committed 
while  under  the  influence  of  liquor. 

As  soon  as  I  heard  the  young  lady's  name,  I 
remembered  all  about  this  unfortunate  young  fel- 
low ;  and,  especially,  that  he  bore  the  same  sur- 
name and  came  originally  from  that  very  town, 
although  he  had  been  convicted  in  another  State. 
I  found  by  inquiry  that  she,  the  handsome  young 
lady,  and  life  of  the  whole  company,  was  the  sis- 
ter of  the  criminal.  It  was  very  plain  that  she 
had  not  yet  heard  of  her  brother's  misfortune. 

Then,  according  to  Mr.    Booker's  account,  I 


The  "Booker  Troupe?  155 

obtained  an  introduction  to  her ;  and,  boy-like,  in 
the  honest  but  inconsiderate  delight  of  being  the 
first  to  bear  her  news  which  she,  doubtless,  would 
want  to  hear,  I  said,  —  "  Miss  Brown,  Miss  Brown, 
your  brother 's  in  the  penitentiary  ! " 

The  young  lady  swooned,  of  course,  and  was 
borne  home  by  her  friends. 

Mr.  Booker  always  adds,  at  this  place,  that  I 
ought  to  have  been  taken  out  and  thrashed,  —  an 
opinion  in  which  I  should  agree  heartily  if  I  did 
not  doubt  the  truth  of  the  whole  story. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"THE  MITCHELLS/' 

URING  the  time  I  was  waiting  for  another 
engagement  I  wandered  to  a  large  Western 
city,  and !  took  board  in  a  respectable  private 
family.  There  were  three  unmarried  daughters 
in  this  household,  the  youngest  of  whom  could 
not,  I  think,  have  been  less  than  twenty-six  years 
old.  Notwithstanding  the  disparity  of  our  ages, 
my  memory  is  very  much  at  fault  if  I  was  not  in 
love  with  all  three  of  these  ladies  at  once.  Noth- 
ing else,  at  least,  could  account  to  me  now  for  the 
tr 

regularity  with  which  I  conducted  this  mature 
trio  to  theatres  and  concerts.  From  their  readi- 
ness to  go  four  and  five  evenings  a  week,  I  am 
also  led  to  conclude  that  they  individually  and 
collectively  encouraged  my  suit. 

What  names  these  three  weird  sisters  bore,  and 
how  they  looked,  are  matters  which  have  long 
since  escaped  me ;  but  the  alacrity  with  which 


"TAe  Mitchells:'  157 

they  would  go  to  ice-cream  saloons  in  the  after- 
noon, or  to  places  of  amusement  in  the  evening, 
at  my  expense,  made  such  an  impression  on  my 
purse  at  the  time  that  I  have  not  forgotten  it,  as 
you  see,  to  this  day. 

I  know  not  in  what  this  state  of  affairs  would 
have  ended,  had  it  not  been  for  a  professional 
engagement  tendered  me  in  the  midst  of  my  prod- 
igality. Before  leaving  that  city,  I  have  a  faint 
remembrance  of  having  formed  one  of  a  band  of 
two  or  three  who  undertook  to  furnish  the  amuse- 
ment for  a  "  Grand  Gift  Enterprise." 

Finally  I  found  myself,  after  some  minor  adven- 
tures, at  Cincinnati,  where  the  Qnce  notorious 
Mike  Mitchell  left  the  Campbell's  Minstrels  and 
took  me  with  him  into  a  company  which  he  or- 
ganized there,  under  the  title  of  "The  Mitch- 
ells." We  played  some  time  at  the  largest  hall 
in  Cincinnati,  boarding  the  while  at  the  Gibson 
House. 

At  this  hotel  I  became  acquainted  with  a 
chubby,  handsome  boy,  about  as  tall  as  I  was,  who 
excited  my  admiration  in  an  extraordinary  man- 
ner. He  would  go  to  the  theatre  or  some  place  of 
amusement  every  evening,  and  nevertheless  get 


158  Vagabond  Adventures. 

up  at  four  or  five  o'clock  every  morning.  I 
burned  with  a  desire  to  wrestle  with  that  boy. 

This  occurred  to  me  as  the  only  way  to  gratify 
my  curiosity  and  establish  a  droll  theory  I  had 
that  any  lad  who  could  do  with  so  little  sleep 
must  be  a  young  giant.  At  last  I  inveigled  him 
into  my  room,  and  the  greater  part  of  my  remain- 
ing days  in  Cincinnati  were  spent  in  that  cheer- 
ful and  invigorating  style  of  contest,  to  the  no  little 
damage  of  the  furniture  and  our  clothes,  and  of 
the  nerves  of  a  rheumatic  old  bachelor  who  occu- 
pied the  apartment  just  under  us. 

There  could  have  beien  nothing  of  the  giant  in 
the  boy,  after  all,  since  we  were  so  evenly  matched. 
And,  somehow,  my  belief  in  his  wonderful  sleep- 
lessness was  sadly  dissipated.  Whether  he  sub- 
sequently told  me  himself,  or  I  found  out  by  per- 
sonal observation,  I  have  forgotten ;  but  I  learned 
at  last  to  account  for  his  power  of  early  rising 
in  a  way  only  less  remarkable  than  the  physical 
endurance  of  which  I  had  thought  him  capable. 

This  young  gentleman,  it  seems,  was  in  the 
habit  of  going  to  sleep  in  his  seat  at  the  theatre, 
just  after  the  overture  by  the  orchestra.  What 
struck  me  as  particularly  astonishing  was  that  he 


"  The  Mitchell  159 

always  had  the  faculty  of  waking  up  when  the 
dancing  and  comic  songs  came  in,  and  especially 
when  the  broadsword  and  other  combats  took 
place.  A  tragedian  never  died  to  slow  music  in 
his  presence  but  the  young  gentleman's  critical 
eye,  refreshed  and  sharpened  by  recent  repose, 
was  upon  him. 

In  a  word,  whatsoever  the  act  or  scene  in  which 
it  occurred,  my  young  friend  was  always  "  in  at 
the  death."  And  he  seemed  to  know  by  instinct, 
without  consulting  a  ponderous  gold  watch  which 
he  carried,  when  it  was  time  for  the  play  to  end. 

Thus,  it  will  be  seen,  he  went  away  from  the 
theatre  with  his  night's  rest  already  hajf  com- 
plete, and  was  able  to  arise  at  four  or  five  the 
next  morning  and  deliver  to  any  chance  comer 
throughout  the  day  a  reliable  opinion  on  the 
best  points  made  the  evening  previous  by  Jami- 
son or  Murdoch  —  the  actors  of  those  times  — 
in  the  great  scene  wherein  Macduff  "  lays  on  " ; 
or  this  young  gentleman  could  tell  you,  perhaps, 
the  number  of  times  the  blades  struck  fire  in 
the  mighty  broadsword  battle,  sustained  single- 
handed  against  fearful  odds,  by  Mrs.  Wilkinson 
in  the  "  French*  Spy." 


160  Vagabond  Adventures. 

In  the  course  of  time  our  company  started  on 
its  travels  through  the  neighboring  States,  and 
when  we  returned  to  Cincinnati,  my  young  friend 
and  fellow-wrestler  was  gone  ;  moved  away  with 
his  parents  from  the  hotel,  I  was  told,  and  to 
another  city. 

Now  what  has  made  this  reminiscence  es- 
pecially interesting^  at  least  to  me,  was  my  next 
meeting  with  the  subject  of  it,  years  and  years 
afterward  ;  because  that  was  one  of  the  strange 
occurrences  which  are,  after  all,  about  as  frequent 
in  an  adventurous  life  as  they  are  in  fiction. 

At  a  little  inn  in  the  shadow  of  the  Odenwald, 
not  far  from  the  Rhine,  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
taking  him  the  next  time  by  the  hand.  We  have 
since  passed  many  a  day  together  on  the  Iser 
and  Seine  and  Tiber,  and  we  have  slept  many  a 
night  in  the  most  uninviting  of  auberges  and 
Gasthduser ;  and  not  there,  I  am  proud  to  say 
or  in  his  hospitable  mansion  on  Michigan 
Avenue,  or,  late  at  night,  in  the  office  of  the 
great  newspaper  which  he  helps  to  edit,  have 
I  ever,  in  his  generous  manhood,  discovered 
any  sleeping  on  his  post,  or  sleeplessness  off 
from  it. 


"  The  Mitchells^  161 

There  were  in  "  The  Mitchells  "  more  discordant 
elements  than  I  recollect  to  have  known  in 
any  other  troupe  in  the  fortunes  of  which  I 
ever  had  a  part.  I  think  there  were  too  many 
leading  comedians  and  musical  stars  among  us 
for  anything  so  sober  and  dull  as  a  good  under- 
standing to  exist  at  all  times. 

Some  one,  you  know,  must  play  second  parts 
and  second  violin  ;  and  that  necessity  was  a  smoth- 
ered volcano  in  our  midst.  Stale  jokes,  unuttered, 
sit  heavily  on  your  comedian's  memory  ;  they  must 
be  refreshed  or  renewed  by  the  laughter  of  an 
audience  ;  and  eclipsed  musical  brilliancy,  when 
turned  in  upon  itself,  illumines  a  very  disagree- 
able void,  and  generally  results  in  heart-burnings. 

I  have  a  lingering  impression  that  I  myself,  in 
this  company,  sighed  regretfully  for  my  old  place 
as  tambourinist  and  end-man.  There  were  three 
other  tambourinists  and  end-men  who,  like  my- 
self, had  been  professionally  cut  short  in  a  comic 
career,  to  make  way  for  a  person  whose  jokes,  in 
our  opinion,  were  not  half  so  good  as  ours,  and 
for  whose  acrobatics  with  the  complicated  tam- 
bourine itself  we  were  united,  as  three  ^men  and 
one  boy,4in  our  sublime  contempt. 

K 


1 62  Vagabond  Adventures. 

We  had  as  musical  director  a  very  young  Ital- 
ian, who  had  led  the  orchestra  of  the  Grand 
Opera  at  Havana,  and  he  managed  to  lead  our 
musicians  into  the  most  unconscionable  difficul- 
ties' and  misunderstandings.  I  cannot  conceive 
how  in  the  world  he  did  it,  but  he  had  them  con- 
tinually by  the  ears. 

At  one  rehearsal  there  was  such  a  jealous 
melee  that  a  veteran  violinist,  an  irascible  old 
German,  was  forced  to  leave  his  wig  behind  him 
on  the  stage  and  retreat  precipitately,  with  no 
more  hair  on  his  head  than  there  is  on  a  hair- 
dresser's block.  Indeed,  as  his  smooth  occiput 
disappeared  through  the  dressing-room  door,  it 
resembled  nothing  so  much  as  a  back  view  of 
one  of  those  familiar  ornaments  of  a  wig-maker's 
window. 

The  business  manager  of  this  company  was  a 
character  that  has  puzzled  me  a  great  deal,  —  a 
human  riddle  that  I  solve  a  new  way  every  time 
I  attempt  it.  The  last  solution,  too,  is  always 
sure  to  be  just  contrary  to  the  one  immediately 
preceding. 

The  name  of  this  moustached  Sphinx  was 
"  Governor "  Dorr,  or  that,  at  least,  was  the 


"  The  Mitchells?  163 

name  he  went  under.  How  he  got,  or  what 
right  he  had  to,  either  his  title  or  surname  I  do 
not  know.  He  had  gambled  for  thousands  in 
California,  and  been  an  adventurer  in  every  land. 
He  knew  Shakespeare,  seemingly,  by  heart.  His 
common  conversation  was  full  of  the  turgid 
phrase  and  movement  of  melodrama.  His  pres- 
ence anywhere  was  a  constant  sensation. 

There  was  a  strange  mixture  of  treachery  and 
generous  good-fellowship  in  the  expression  of  his 
face.  When  younger,  before  a  long  course  of 
dissipation  had  left  its  marks  upon  him,  he 
must  have  been  very  handsome.  He  was  yet 
tall  and  tolerably  erect,  and  the  excessive  meas- 
ure of  the  liquor  he  had  consumed  showed  itself, 
not  so  much  in  his  face  as  in  that  peculiar 
bend  to  the  knees,  when  walking,  which  the 
acute  observer  will  always  find  the  surest  test 
of  the  confirmed  Bacchanalian. 

There  is  a  kind  of  life  that  never  gets  into 
books,  —  a  species  of  villany  that  floats  ethe- 
really just  above  the  atmosphere  of  the  courts. 
The  newspaper  reporter  does  not  quite  grasp  it, 
and  so  it  remains  without  its  literature.  Of  a 
quarter-century  or  more  of  this  indescribable 


164  Vagabond  Adventures. 

sort  of  life  Governor  Dorr  had  skimmed  the 
cream,  as  I  may  say. 

All  that  was  worldly  he  knew,  from  the  infini- 
tesimal series  of  negative  physical  pleasures  to 
the  most  abstruse  calculus  of  positive  crime. 
The  idea  of  a  virtuous  home,  of  children,  and  of 
scenes  that  are  so  common  in  every-day  life  was 
to  him,  I  am  sure,  a  memory  of  remote  years. 
He  saw  all  these  things  from  the  outside,  and 
lived,  even  in  his  most  lavish  prosperity,  in  the 
very  worst  of  homelessness.  Yet  I  have  seen  him 
manifest  simplicity  as  honest  as  a  child's,  and  a  ten- 
derness in  which  there  could  be  no  counterfeit. 

I  think  I  have  never  known  a  man  on  whom 
a  striking  scene  in  nature  had  so  powerful  an 
effect.  He  would  look  upon  a  beautiful  or  wild 
landscape  for  hours  at  a  time.  There  could 
have  been  no  affectation  in  this,  for  he  rarely 
expressed  his  admiration  audibly  ;  and  when  he 
did,  it  was  in  some  brief  exclamation  that  was 
forcible  or  original. 

I  shall  always  remember  the  evening  when  we 
sat  upon  the  quarter-deck  of  a  steamboat  at  a 
backwoods  landing,  on  one  of  the  great  Western 
rivers,  where  for  some  reason  we  were  detained. 


"  The  Mitchells:  165 

We  were  sitting  alone,  I  think.  It  was  nearly 
midnight,  and  there  was  scarcely  a  cloud  in  the 
heavens  or  a  ripple  in  the  water.  The  moon  was 
shining  grandly,  duplicating  in  shadow  the  thick 
forests  for  miles  along  the  stream.  The  Gover- 
nor had  been  looking  in  silence  at  the  magnifi- 
cent scene  for  as  much  as  a  half-hour  when  I 
took  occasion  to  remark  that  I  thought  I  would 
go  to  my  state-room. 

The  words  were  scarcely  uttered  when  he 
startled  me  by  jumping  suddenly  to  his  feet  and 
exclaiming,  his  voice  all  a-quiver :  "  Great  God  !  a 
man  does  not  see  three  such  nights  as  this  in  a 
lifetime ;  how  can  you  —  how  can  they  sleep  ? 
I  shall  not  go  to  bed  till  the  moon  does  ! " 

And  as  I  left  him,  he  sat  down  again  with  the 
determined  yet  injured  look  of  one  who  had  been 
insulted  through  nature. 

The  Governor  liked  to  pass  for  a  great  liter- 
ary character,  and  I  believe  he  succeeded  in  his 
ambition  among  his  peculiar  associates.  By  a 
lucky  chance  I  have  found,  between  the  leaves 
of  an  old  diary  which  I  kept  spasmodically  at 
that  time,  a  specimen  of  his  .production.  It  is  an 
elaborate  "  Life  of  Michael  Mitchell,  the  Comedian 


1 66  Vagabond  Adventures. 

and  Dancer."  I  cut  it  out  of  a  Cincinnati  paper, 
—  the  Commercial,  if  I  am  not  mistaken ;  and  I 
am  not  sure  that  I  did  not  once  admire  it  almost 
as  much  as  did  the  Governor  himself. 

I  see  now,  by  the  light  of  greater  technical 
knowledge  in  such  matters,  that  this  rare  bit  of 
biography  was  printed  bodily  as  an  advertisement. 
It  has,  after  the  manner  of  special  patent-medicine 
notices,  "  Communicated"  just  over  it,  in  brackets. 
I  observe,  too,  that  it  has  at  the  left-hand  bottom 
corner  these  cabalistic  signs  :  "  dlt."  I  am  glad, 
nevertheless,  to  be  able  to  give  an  extract  or  so. 

The  opening  sentence  has,  as  -will  be  seen,  a 
striking  though  inadvertent  allusion  to  one  of  the 
games  with  which  the  old  gambler  was  doubt- 
less much  more  familiar  than  he  could  have  been 
with  the  hazardous  Latin.  "The  subject  of  this 
sketch,"  writes  the  biographer,  "was  born  in  Ire- 
land, on  the  2Oth  of  November,  Anno  Domino 
1831." 

A  more  extended  extract,  taken  at  random,  - 
say  from  his  account  of  Mitchell's  first  triumph,  - 
will  be  all  that  is  needed  as  a  specimen  of  the  Gov-. 
ernor's  average  literary  manner.     It  is  better  still, 
however,  as  an  autobiographical  reminiscence  of 


"  The  Mitchells":  167 

the  biographer  himself,  or,  perhaps  I  should  say,  as 
a  photograph  of  his  own  picturesque  mind.  You 
will  observe  how  his  style  reeks  of  the  drama  and 
yellow-covered  memories.  That  was  the  exact 
manner  of  his  ordinary  conversation. 

It  cannot  be  that  he  has  weathered  the  years 
which  have  intervened  since  he  made  this  contri- 
bution to  literature  ;  but  it  will  always  have  this 
peculiarity  for  me,  that  I  shall  never  read  it  with- 
out seeing  the  old  adventurer,  living  and  swag- 
gering before  me,  the  same  insolvable  riddle  in 
human  nature.  Here  is  the  paragraph :  — 

"  We  next-find  Mike  in  the  difficult  situation  of 
vocalist  and  bone-player ;  he  becomes  a  trouba- 
dour the  loth  of  March,  1842,  a  day  sacred  to 
men  of  genius  (for  on  that  day  Tyrone  Power, 
that  excellent  wit  and  comedian,  left  the  shores 
of  this  country  on  the  ill-fated  President,  never 
to  return).  On  that  identical  day  there  was 
bustle  and  excitement  in  the  castle  of  the  Mitch- 
ells, No.  222  Greenwich  Street,  New  York  City. 
Young  Michael  was  to  be  caparisoned  and 
enter  the  lists  '  armed  cap-a-pie/  as  a  knight  or 
troubadour  of  olden  time  (vide  James).  The 


1 68  Vagabond  Adventures. 

eventful  eve  of  that  eventful  day  arrived  precisely 
at  nightfall,  at  the  moment  that  'Old  Trinity ' 
proclaimed  with  brazen  notes  the  hour  of  7  P.  M. 
There  issued  from  the  outer  gate  of  the  Mitchells' 
guarded  palace  a  youth  armed  with  four  bones. 
The  night  looked  lowering  as  dark  Fate  itself,  no 
portents  were  in  the  sky,  no  Corsican  Brothers  il- 
lusions ;  but  something  made  our  hero  tremble, — 
it  was  the  uncertainty  of  the  future.  Sustaining 
himself  with  a  glass  of  root-beer,  he  made  his  way 
through  the  obscurity  of  the  gas-light  to  a  dilap- 
idated house,  No.  450  Broadway,  gave  the  counter- 
sign or  word  of  the  night  (Daniel  Tucker,  Esq.), 
the  door  flew  open  at  the  magical  sound,  and 
Michael  entered.  At  first  sight  of  the  interior  of 
that  /magnificent  arena  our  hero's  cheek  slightly 
paled,  and  well  it  might.  '  The  Chamber  of  Hor- 
rors of  Madame  Tassarend'  could  not  move  the 
redoubtable  Michael  now,  for  he  has  grown  bold 
in  his  profession.  But  on  that  night,  armed  only 
with  youth  and  'bones,'  surrounded  by  a  live 
rattlesnake,  a  six-legged  horse,  three  ladies  in 
wax,  the  counterpart  of  three  of  flesh  that  had 
'  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil '  by  the  hands  of  mid- 
night murders  \sit\- — six  little  orphan  boys  armed 


"  The  Mitchells:'  169 

all  with  bones,  and  looking  precious  hungry,  and 
seated  on  six  little  chairs,  a  seventh  chair  vacant 
for  Mike  himself,  like  that  of  Banquo's,  —  six  junk- 
bottles  with  six  tallow-candles  therein,  throwing 
their  furtive,  flickering,  melancholy  light  upon 
these  cadaverous  and  superannuated  'Tarmon' 
musicians,playing  upon  bass-drum, cracked  fife,and 
hurdy-gurdy.  No  wonder  that  poor  Mike's  blood 
rushed  to  his  heart,  and  that  he  trembled  in  his 
boots  ;  the  sight  would  have  intimidated  stronger 
and  older  artists.  The  trio  commenced  their  over- 
ture,—  the  music,  that  beautiful  air,  'The  Light 
of  Other  Days '  (poor  fellows  !  the  light  of  their 
days  had  surely  faded,  —  they  were  blind),  and  as 
they  proceeded  with  their  soul-stirring  drum  and 
ear-piercing  fife,  Mike  recovered  his  self-posses- 
sion. The  martial  music  over,  and  the  Germans 
having  retired  to  the  shades  of  a  lager-beer  saloon, 
Michael's  turn  came  next.  Taking  the  vacant 
chair  and  seating  himself  thereon,  he  drew  his 
American  castanets  (the  younger  brother  of  the 
banjo)  from  his  pocket  (he  had  but  one  at  that 
time),  and  threw  himself  in  an  attitude  to  sustain 
himself  for  the  coming  fray  ;  it  came  at  last,  —  the 
rattle,  the  crash  of  seven  juvenile  bone-players  in 
8 


170  Vagabond  Adventures. 

the  difficult  overture  to  the  opera  of  Daniel 
Tucker.  It  was  awful,  —  it  ended,  and  the  ap- 
plause shook  the  old  tenement  to  its  foundation." 

Of  Mitchell  himself  I  can  recollect  little  more 
than  that  he  was  a  jovial,  easy  sort  of  fellow  per- ' 
sonally,  and  that  he  was,  as  his  scenic  biographer 
would  have  said,  "  a  first-rate  Ethiopian  artist." 
Scandal  had  it  that  this  same  biographer,  who 
was,  it  must  be  remembered,  his  business  manager 
and  partner,  did  risk  the  earnings  of  Mr.  Mitchell's 
minstrels  in  hazardous  back-rooms,  and  thus  pre- 
cipitated a  catastrophe  which  the  want  of  har- 
mony among  the  members  would  sooner  or  later 
have  brought  upon  the  troupe. 

In  the  absence  of  positive  knowledge  on  the 
subject,  I  would  not  like  to  say  how  true  or  false 
this  rumor  was.  This  much  only  I  will  vouch 
for :  we  were  advertised  to  perform  in  some  city 
.of  Southern  Ohio,  and,  going  down  to  the  depot 
with  our  big  and  little  boxes,  green-baize  bags 
and  fiddle-cases,  we  were  startled  with  the  an- 
nouncement that  there  was  no  money  in  the 
treasury  to  pay  our  way  out  of  Cincinnati. 

I  remember  that  the  veteran  German  violinist. 


"  The  Mitchells:'  171 

scratching  his  wig,  —  which  I  need  hardly  say  he 
had  lived  to  recover,  —  and  squeezing  his  violin 
under  his  arm,  remarked,  when  he  heard  this 
piece  of  news,  "  Well,  den  de  gombany  ish  bust ! " 
And,  in  point  of  fact,  that  veteran  violinist  was 
right. 

I  was  afterward  one  of  the  volunteers  at  the 
grand  complimentary  benefit  given  to  Mitchell  at 
Cincinnati,  with  the  proceeds  of  which  he  was 
sent  out  to  California  to  join  his  friends  Birch 
and  Backus. 

Mitchell,  -poor  fellow,  like  Lynch  and  Sliter 
and  so  many  of  my  old  associates  in  the  cork- 
opera,  has  passed  away,  let  us  hope  to  a  quieter 
stage,  beyond  the  double-dealing  of  managers  and 
the  contumely  of  publicans. 

An  old  showman  is,  in  truth,  a  being  sui gene- 
ris. You  rarely  meet  one  who  will  not  tell  you 
he  has  been  twenty-two  years  in  the  show  busi- 
ness. He  always  talks  in  hyperbole,  uses  adjec- 
tives for  adverbs,  and  arranges  all  the  minor  inci- 
dents of  his  life,  as  well  as  his  conversation,  in  the 
most  dramatic  forms.  He  is  often  a  better  friend 
to  others  than  to  himself;  he  is  not  naturally 


172  Vagabond  Adventures. 

worse  than  the  majority  of  men,  but  has  more 
temptation.  A  good  negro-minstrel  would,  in  any 
other  profession,  be  an  Admirable  Crichton  in 
respect  to  morals. 

While  acknowledging  with  pride  that  I  met  in 
this  calling  some  who  deserved  even  such  praise, 
it  is  due  to  the  truth  to  state  also  that  I  have 
known  many  and  many  a  poor  fellow  who  was,  in 
the  language  of  Addison,  — 

"  Reduced,  like  Hannibal,  to  seek  relief 
From  court  to  court,  and  wander  up  and  down, 
A  vagabond  in  Afric." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

ON   THE   FLOATING   PALACE. 

HPHE  day  after  the  farewell  benefit  of  Mitchell 
-*•  I  was  engaged  by  Dr.  Spaulding,  the  vet- 
eran manager,  whose  old  quarrel  with  Dan  Rice 
has  made  him  famous  to  the  lovers  of  the  circus. 
He  was  then  fitting  out  the  Floating  Palace 
for  its  voyage  on  the  Western  and  Southern 
rivers. 

The  Floating  Palace  was  a  great  boat  built 
expressly  for  show  purposes.  It  was  towed  from 
place  to  place  by  a  steamer  called  the  James 
Raymond.  The  Palace  contained  a  museum  with 
all  the  usual  concomitants  of  "  Invisible  Ladies," 
stuffed  giraffes,  puppet-dancing,  &c.,  &c.  The 
Raymond  contained,  besides  the  dining-hall  and 
state-rooms  of  the  employees,  a  concert-saloon 
fitted  up  with  great  elegance  and  convenience, 
and  called  the  "  Ridotto."  In  this  latter  I  was 
engaged,  in  conjunction  with  "a  full  band  of 
minstrels/*  to  do  my  jig  and  wench  dances. 


174  Vagabond  Adventures. 

The  two  boats  left  Cincinnati  with  nearly  a 
hundred  souls  on  board,  that  being  the  necessary 
complement  of  the  vast  establishment.  We  were 
bound  for  Pittsburg,  where  we  were  to  give  our 
first  exhibition ;  purposing  to  stop  afterward,  on 
our  way  down,  at  all  the  towns  and  landings  along 
the  Ohio.  Everything  went  well  on  our  way  up 
the  river  till  we  came  within  about  twenty  miles 
of  Wheeling,  Va.,  when  the  Raymond  stuck  fast 
on  a  sand-bar. 

It  was  thought  best  for  the  people  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  Palace,  so  as  to  lighten  the  steamer 
and  let  her  work  off.  When,  accordingly,  we  £ad 
all  huddled  into  the  museum,  our  lines  were  cast 
off  and  our  anchor  let  go ;  but  we  were  carried 
half  a  mile  down  stream  before  the  anchor  caught. 
Here,  all  day,  from  the  decks  of  the  Palace  we 
could  watch  the  futile  efforts  of  the  Raymond  to 
get  off  the  bar.  The  only  provision  for  the  inner 
man,  on  board  of  our  craft,  was  a  drinking-saloon, 
which  was  of  very  little  comfort  to  the  numerous 
ladies  of  the  party,  to  say  the  least.  Toward 
night  we  became  exceedingly  hungry,  but  no 
relief  was  sent  us  from  the  steamer. 

One  Riesse,  an  obese  bass-singer,  who  was  a 


On  the  Floating  Palace.  175 

terrible  gourmand,  and  who  had  been  for  the  last 
five  hours  raving  about  the  decks  in  a  pitiable 
manner,  rushed  suddenly  out  upon  the  guard, 
about  eight  o'clock,  declaring  that  he  saw  a  boat- 
load of  provisions  coming  from  the  Raymond. 
A  shout  of  joy  now  went  up  from  the  famished 
people  that  shook  the  stuffed  giraffes  and  wax- 
works in  their  glass  cases. 

It  was  a  boat,  indeed  ;  but  it  contained  simply 
the  captain,  mate,  and  pilot,  who  had  come  all 
that  way  after  their  evening  bitters  at  the  drink- 
ing-saloon.  They  expressed  themselves  very 
sorry  for  us,  and  were  confident  that  they  could 
now  get  the  steamer  off  the  bar.  This  liquid 
stimulus  was  all  that  had  been  needed  from  the 
first. 

With  this  mild  assurance  for  a  foundation  to 
our  hopes  of  relief,  they  took  their  departure,  and 
we  waited  on  and  on  through  the  long  night. 
Riesse,  the  bass-singer,  never  slept  a  wink,  or 
allowed  many  others  to  sleep ;  his  hungry  voice, 
like  a  loon's  on  some  solitary  lake,  breaking  in 
upon  the  stillness  where  and  when  it  was  least 
expected.  Wrapped  in  the  veritable  cloak  of  the 
great  Pacha  Mohammed  AH,  I  drowsed  through 


176  Vagabond  Adventures. 

the  latter  part  of  the  night,  crouched  down  be- 
tween the  glass  apartments  of  the  waxen  Tarn 
O'Shanter  and  the  Twelve  Apostles. 

In  the  morning  there  were  several  more  steam- 
ers aground  in  the  neighborhood,  but  no  better 
prospect  of  the  Raymond's  getting  clear.  We 
were  finally  taken  off  to  her  in  small  boats,  and 
allowed  to  break  our  long  fast. 

Instead  of  rising,  the  river  fell,  and  we  were  left 
almost  a  week  on  dry  land.  Our  provisions  giv- 
ing out,  it  was  thought  best  for  the  performers  to 
be  taken  up  to  Wheeling  by  a  little  stern-wheeler 
that  happened  to  come  along.  At  that  city  we 
gave  several  exhibitions  in  Washington  Hall. 
Proceeding  thence  down  the  river,  on  the  stern- 
wheeler,  to  play  at  the  towns  along  till  we  should 
be  overtaken  by  the  Palace  and  the  Raymond,  we 
passed  those  unfortunate  boats,  still  laboring  to 
free  themselves,  and  were  greeted  with  hearty 
cheers  by  the  people  on  board.  One  night  the 
river  rose  suddenly,  and  in  a  day  or  so  we  were 
overtaken  by  the  whole  establishment,  at  Marietta, 
Ohio. 

The  purposed  trip  to  Pittsburg  was  abandoned. 
We  commenced  our  voyage  down  the  river,  ex- 


On  the  Floating  Palace.  177 

hibiting  in  the  afternoon  and  evening,  and  some- 
times in  the  morning,  at  two,  and  often  three 
towns  or  landings  in  a  day. 

It  needed  not  this  excess  of  its. labors  to  tire 
me  of  the  showman's  life.  Several  months  be- 
fore I  had  begun  to  doubt  whether  a  great  negro- 
minstrel  was  a  more  enviable  man  than  a  great 
senator  or  author.  As  these  doubts  grew  on  me, 
I  purchased  some  school-books,  and  betook  my- 
self to  study  every  day,  devouring,  in  the  intervals 
of  arithmetic  and  grammar,  the  contents  of  every 
work  of  biography  and  poetry  that  I  could  lay 
hands  on. 

The  novelty  and  excitement  of  this  odd  life, 
indeed,  were  wearing  away.  All  audiences  at  last 
looked  alike  to  me,  as  all  lecture-goers  do  to  Dr. 
Holmes.  They  laughed  at  the  same  places  in  the 
performance,  applauded  at  the  same  place,  and 
looked  inane  or  interested  at  the  same  place,  day 
after  day,  week  after  week,  and  month  after  month. 

I  became  gradually  indifferent  to  their  applause, 
or  only  noticed  when  it  failed  at  the  usual  step  or 
pantomime.  Then  succeeded  a  sort  of  contempt 
for  audiences,  and,  at  last,  a  positive  hatred  of 
them  and  myself.  I  noticed,  or  thought  I  noticed, 
8*  L 


178  Vagabond  Adventures. 

that  their  faces  wore  the  same  vacant  expression 
whether  their  eyes  were  staring  at  me  or  the 
stuffed  giraffes  or  the  dancing  puppets  of  the 
museum. 

Nevertheless  the  days,  and  nights  too,  on  the 
Palace  were  eventful  ones.  Some  unexpected 
thing  was  always  happening  to  the  boats,  or  to 
the  performers,  or  to  the  audiences.  An  occa- 
sional struggle  with  the  town  authorities  would  add 
spice  to  our  life.  What  made  these  squabbles 
particularly  interesting  was  that  they  never  re- 
sulted twice  alike.  The  one  that  caused  us  the 
most  merriment,  and,  consequently,  dwells  best 
in  my  memory,  occurred  on  the  Ohio,  at  West 
Columbia,  Va. 

Certain  authorities  at  that  ambitious  little  town 
had  agreed  with  our  agent  that  our  license  should 
be  the  sum  of  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents,  which 
was  merely  reasonable  in  those  days,  so  innocent 
of  our  later  improvements  in  taxation.  But  when 
we  had  opened  our  doors  to  the  vast  multitude  on 
the  banks,  certain  others  of  the  authorities  became 
suddenly  impressed  with  the  idea  that  the  agree- 
ment with  the  agent  was  based  on  too  cheap  a 


On  the  Floating  Palace.  179 

plan,  and  demanded  twenty-five  dollars  or  the 
shows  could  not  go  on. 

Our  manager  strenuously  refused,  but  offered  at 
last  to  compromise  rather  than  have  any  further 
trouble,  tendering  twelve  dollars  and  a  half.  The 
authorities  persisted  in  their  unreasonable  de- 
mand, and  said,  with  still  greater  flourish  of  con- 
stables, &c.  that  the  shows  should  not  go  on. 

It  was  the  work  of  about  ten  minutes  to  cast 
off  the  lines  and  float  down  stream  a  few  rods, 
just  outside  the  limits  of  the  corporation  ;  and 
the  shows  did  go  on,  without  paying  any  license 
at  all,  and  to  overflowing  and  sympathizing  audi- 
ences. 

Shortly  after,  at  another  little  town  in  Ken- 
tucky, a  runaway  couple  came  into  the  museum, 
bringing  the  squire  with  them  ;  and  right  in  front 
of  the  glass  case  where  a  stuffed  hyena  and  a 
hilarious  alligator,  also  stuffed,  exchanged  perpet- 
ual smiles  at  each  other,  —  which,  of  course,  were 
intended  by  the  taxidermist  as  looks  of  ferocity, 
—  and  while  a  barrel-organ  was  playing  a  lively 
dance  for  the  puppets,  this  runaway  young  couple 
was  married. 

A  brother  of  the  lady  arrived  on  the  scene  just 


180  Vagabond  Adventures. 

too  lafe  to  prevent  the  nuptials.  The  only  means 
of  revenge  he  could  think  of  was  to  get  abomi- 
nably drunk,  and  raise  a  disturbance  in  the  con- 
cert-room that  afternoon.  It  must  have  been  a 
memorable  day  with  that  particular  family,  for  the 
young  gentleman  was  roundly  whipped  for  his 
share  in  the  wedding  ceremonies. 

The  row,  however,  became  general.  That  was 
the  momentous  occasion  when  Governor  Dorr, 
entering  the  arena  by  a  side  door,  announced 
with  some  emphasis  that  he  wanted  it  understood 
he  had  something  to  say  in  that  fight.  He  was 
standing  on  a  seat  by  the  door  when  he  com- 
menced this  speech.  It  was  never  ended,  at  least 
to  his  satisfaction.  He  had  just  begun  his  exor- 
dium as  reported,  when  some  stalwart  Kentuck- 
ian  knocked  him  clear  through  the  door. 

With  remarkable  presence  of  mind  the  Gover- 
nor picked  up  his  hat  as  if  he  had  merely  hap- 
pened to  drop  it  on  the  guard  of  the  boat,  and 
walked  quietly  off  to  his  state-room,  leaving  the 
regular  ushers  to  restore  order. 

If  I  have  not  before  mentioned  Dorr's  pres- 
ence on  the  Palace,  it  has  been  because  I  have 
been  trying  to  explain  in  my  puzzled  memory  how 


On  the  Floating  Palace.  181 

he  came  there,  and  what  was  the  line  of  his 
duties.  I  should  have  put  him  down  at  once 
as  the  literary  gentleman  of  the  establishment, 
were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  we  had  another 
who  manifestly  filled  that  office. 

I  allude  to  the  gentleman  who  edited  the  daily 
paper  which  was  printed  in  the  museum  and  dis- 
tributed gratuitously  to  its  patrons.  This  man 
was  the  founder  and  for  a  long  time  the  editor  of 
one  of  the  best-known  and  most  influential  jour- 
nals now  published  in  the  Union.  The  wreck  of 
a  fine  scholar  and  a'graphic  writer,  who  had  been 
the  associate  of  some  of  the  highest  and  best 
of  our  land,  it  was  a  melancholy  sight  to  see  him 
industriously  printing  his  little  paper  before  the 
stolid,  curious  people  who  thronged  about  his 
stand. 

At  the  same  stand  gingerbread  and  brilliant- 
colored  candies  and  lemonade  were  dispensed,  — 
pale  red  lemonade,  which  seemed,  as  one  might 
say,  continually  beholding  its  maker,  and  only 
half  succeeding  in  its  attempt  to  blush.  Poor 
old  fellow !  the  labor  of  his  hands  and  brain  was, 
as  I  have  remarked,  distributed  gratuitously.  The 
lemonade  was  sold  for  five  cents  a  glass. 


1 82  Vagabond  Adventures. 

This  thought,  if  it  ever  occurred  to  him,  could 
have  had  little  force,  for  his  philosophy  taught 
him  to  accept  every  situation  unmurmuringly. 
He  had  but. one  argument  to  establish  his  the- 
ory of  fate,  and  he  was  never  weary  of  repeat- 
ing it.  When  any  passing  philanthropist  would 
grapple  with  him  and  endeavor  to  show  him  that 
he  ought  to  be  very  miserable,  he  would  tell  this 
story. 

"  There  was  a  man,"  he  would  say,  "  at  work 
on  a  scaffold  of  a  four-story  building  in  Cincin- 
nati. The  scaffolding  gave  way,  and  he  fell  those 
four  stories,  and  one  besides,  down  into  the  cellar. 
Fifteen  minutes  thereafter  he  was  up  again,  unin- 
jured, at  his  work.  A  week  afterward  he  was 
walking  in  front  of  Alf  Burnett's  saloon,  stepped 
on  a  watermelon-rind,  fell,  broke  his  neck,  and 
died  instantly." 

The  narrator  would  never  vouchsafe  any  expla- 
nation. When  his  hearer,  making  an  application 
for  himself,  would  accuse  our  philosopher  of  fatal- 
ism, he  would  only  smile  good-naturedly,  and  go 
about  his  duties.  It  must,  indeed,  have  been  a  dull 
penetration  that  could  see  nothing  better  in  the 
old  fellow's  story,  —  especially  under  the  every- 


On  the  Floating  Palace.  183 

day  commentary  of  his  uncomplaining  life.  And 
I  am  glad  to  say  others  put  this  larger  interpre- 
tation upon  him  and  his  philosophy,  that  his  own 
misfortunes  had  taught  him,  more  than  his  story, 
the  ways  of  God  are  inscrutable  ;  that  He  is  all  in 
all,  and  that,  high  or  low,  successful  or  broken,  we 
are  all  alike  in  His  merciful  hands. 

Scarcely  three  years  ago  I  saw  my  old  friend 
for  the  last  time.  We  met  in  the  street  at  San 
Francisco,  where  he  then  lived,  and  where  he  has 
since  died.  How  well  he  was  known  and  loved 
there  was  in  some  measure  attested  by  the  hon- 
orable manner  of  his  burial. 

There  are  few  printers,  at  least,  in  the  metrop- 
olis of  the  Pacific  who  will  not  remember  him, 
although  they  may  have  known  nothing  more  of 
his  personal  history  than  that  he  was  the  veteran 
attach^  of  Calhoun's  job-rooms.  Whatever  the 
straits  to  which  his  peculiar  misfortune  brought 
him,  he  never  lost  that  indescribable  dignity  and 
courtesy  which  were  a  part  of  his  heritage  as  a 
born  gentleman. 

Poor  old  John  McCreary !  he  would  have  writ- 
ten a  better  obituary  of  me  than  this,  and  pub- 
lished it  in  his  Palace  Journal,  if  I  had  chanced 


184  Vagabond  Adventures. 

to  get  knocked  on  the  head  in  some  of  the  riots 
and  perilous  fights  which  we  witnessed  together 
at  those  lawless  backwoods  landings. 

And  this  brings  me  back  again  to  Governor 
Dorr,  who  was  sore  in  the  face,  and  more  espe- 
cially in  the  feelings,  for  some  time  after  his  dis- 
astrous attempt  to  reason  with  the  excited  spirits 
of  that  Kentucky  audience.  He  could  not  bear, 
with  any  degree  of  equanimity,  the  slightest  allu- 
sion to  the  day  of  the  marriage  in  the  museum. 

I  cannot  remember  'exactly  when  the  Gover- 
nor left  the  Palace,  or  why,  as  he  was,  I  have 
already  intimated,  ever  one  of  the  company.  I 
lean  to  the  opinion  that  the  manager,  or  his 
right-hand  man,  the  once  famous  Van  Orden  of 
Dan  Rice's  satirical  song,  kept  him  on  board  to 
be  amused  by  his  conversation. 

Except  this  amusing  conversation,  and  a  com- 
mendable regularity  at  meals,  I  can  think  of  no 
activity  whatever  on  the  part  of  the  Governor 
while  with  us,  —  save  only  that  he  did  two  things  : 
the  first  was  to  get  knocked  through  the  door  of 
the  concert-room,  as  before  mentioned ;  and  the 
second  was  to  write  up  for  our  daily  newspaper, 


On  the  Floating  Palace.  185 

the  Palace  Journal,  a  most  brilliant  account  of 
the  curiosities  in  the  museum. 

The  picturesque  joy  with  which,  in  that  series 
of  articles,  he  would  pursue  the  history  of  some 
bogus  war-club  through  the  hands  and  over  the 
heads  of  whole  dynasties  of  savage  kings ;  the 
sunny  sea  voyages  upon  which  he  would  send  his 
adventurous  rhetoric  to  far  tropic  islands  after 
some  insignificant  shell,  which,  perhaps,  was  in 
reality  captured  in  the  neighborhood  of  Long 
Branch  ;  the  fearful  and  bloody  deeds  of  midnight 
assassins  that  he  would  group  about  some  old 
rusty  sheaf-knife,  which  was  curious  only  because 
it  had  been  rusted  to  order  by  chemicals ;  and 
then  the  melting  tenderness  in  which  his  soul 
would  go  out  in  the  heart  history  of  our  wax 
figures,  —  especially  of  that  stolid,  blue-eyed  lady 
in  excessive  black  lashes  and  pink  cheeks,  who 
had  been  bought  with  an  odd  lot  from  an  old  col- 
lection at  Albany,  and  attired  in  cheap  gauze 
and  labelled  "The  Empress  Josephine,"  —  these 
delightful  arabesques  of  invention  and  sentiment, 
and,  in  a  word,  any  of  the  Governor's  fine  lit- 
erary pyrotechnics  may  not  be  reproduced. 

They  have  gone  down  with  the  last  files  of  the 


1 86  Vagabond  Adventures. 

Palace  Journal,  who  shall  say  in  what  Western 
Lethe  ?  And  yet  I  have  the  bad  taste  to  own  that, 
for  my  own  reading,  I  would  rather  come  across 
that  series  of  descriptive  articles  now  than  upon 
the  lost  books  of  Livy. 

The  Governor  fairly  revelled  in  his  work.  In- 
deed, my  last  memory  of  him  is  as  I  saw  him, 
with  his  lead-pencil  in  his  hand  and  indefinite 
foolscap  before  him,  sprawled  out  upon  his  stomach 
on  the  floor  of  the  museum,  one  forenoon  when 
there  was  no  exhibition.  He  was  staring,  in  a 
fine  frenzy,  straight  into  the  distended  mouth  and 
merry  glass  eyes  of  our  stuffed  alligator ;  in  the 
act,  no  doubt,  was  the  ecstatic  Governor  of  in- 
venting and  composing  details  of  the  heart-rend- 
ing tragedy  of  the  last  man  swallowed  by  the 
smiling,  convivial  saurian  before  him. 

And  there  I  shall  leave  him. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

WILD  LIFE; 

T  OBTAINED  my  first  view  of  the  great 
-*•  Mississippi  and  of  the  practical  working  of 
Lynch  law  at  the  same  time.  The  night  of  our 
advent  at  Cairo  was  lit  up  by  the  fires  of  an 
execution. 

A  negro,  it  seems,  was  the  owner  or  lessee  of 
an  old  wharf-boat,  which  had  been  moored  to  the 
levee  of  that  town,  and  which  he  had  turned  to 
the  uses  of  a  gambling-saloon.  People  who  had 
been  enticed  into  it  had  never  been  seen  or  heard 
of  afterward.  The  vigilance  committee,  then  gov- 
erning Cairo,  had  frequently  endeavored  to  lay 
hold  of  the  negro  and  bring  him  to  trial ;  but  he 
had  secret  passages  from  one  part  of  the  wharf- 
boat  to  the  other,  by  which  he  always  eluded  his 
pursuers. 

Having  no  doubt  that  he  was  guilty  of  several 
murders,  the  vigilantes,  on  the  night  of  our  ar- 


1 88  Vagabond  Adventures. 

rival,  had  come  down  to  the  levee,  two  or  three 
hundred  strong,  armed,  equipped,  and  determined 
to  make  the  wretch  surrender.  In  answer  to 
their  summons  they  received  nothing  but  insults 
from  the  negro,  still  out  of  sight  and  secure  in 
one  of  his  hiding-places. 

At  a  given  signal  the  wharf-boat  was  set  on 
fire  and  cut  adrift,  and  as  it  floated  out  into  the 
current  the  vigilantes  surrounded  it  in  small 
boats,  with  their  rifles  ready  and  pointed  to  pre- 
vent the  escape  of  their  victim. 

When  the  wharf-boat  was  well  into  the  stream 
the  negro  appeared  boldly  at  the  place  which,  in 
the  middle  of  all  river-craft  of  that  kind,  is  left 
open  for  the  reception  and  discharge  of  freight. 
And  now  a  scene  occurred,  so  sensationally  dra- 
matic, so  easily  adaptable  to  the  stage  of  these 
latter  days,  that  I  would  not  dare  to  relate  it  for 
truth  if  I  had  not  witnessed  it  with  my  own  eyes. 

The  negro  was  not  discovered  till  he  had  rolled 
a  large  keg  of  powder  into  the  middle  of  the  open 
space  just  mentioned.  As  he  stood  in  the  light 
of  his  burning  craft,  it  could  be  seen  by  the  peo- 
ple in  the  small  boats  in  the  river  that  he  had 
a  cocked  musket'  with  the  muzzle  plunged  into 


Wild  Life.  189 

the  keg  of  powder.  Then  the  negro  dared  them 
to  come  on  and  take  him,  pouring  upon  them  at 
the  same  time  such  horrible  oaths  and  curses  as 
have  rarely  come  from  the  lips  of  man. 

The  small  boats  kept  a  proper  distance  now, 
their  occupants  caring  only  to  prevent  his  escape 
into  the  water.  As  the  flames  grew  thicker 
around  him  there  the  negro  stood,  floating  down 
into  the  darkness  that  enveloped  the  majestic 
river,  with  his  cocked  musket  still  in  the  keg  of 
powder,  and  cursing  and  defying  his  executioners. 
He  was  game  to  the  last.  We  heard  the  explo- 
sion down  the  stream,  and  saw  the  wharf-boat 
sink. 

The  next  day  I  spoke  with  the  leader  of  the 
band  in  the  small  boats,  —  a  short,  wiry  little 
man,  with  a  piercing  eye.  He  said  that  he  had 
hot  the  heart  to  shoot  the.  "  nigger,"  because  he 
showed  such  pluck.  He  even  confessed  that,  for 
the  same  reason,  he  felt  almost  sorry  for  the 
victim,  after  the  explosion  had  blown  him  into 
eternity. 

We  saw,  indeed,  a  great  deal  of  wild  life  in  the 
country  we  visited,  for  we  steamed  thousands  of 


i  go  Vagabond  Adventures. 

miles  on  the  Western  and  Southern  rivers.  We 
went,  for  instance,  the  entire  navigable  lengths 
of  the  Cumberland  and  Tennessee.  Our  adver- 
tising agent  had  a  little  boat  of  his  own,  in  which 
he  preceded  us.  The  Palace  and  Raymond  would 
sometimes  run  their  noses  upon  the  banks  of 
some  of  these  rivers  where  there  was  not  a  hab- 
itation in  view,  and  by  the  hour  of  the  exhibi- 
tion the  boats  and  shore  would  be  thronged 
with  people.  In  some  places  on  the  Mississippi, 
especially  in  Arkansas,  men  would  come  in  with 
pistols  sticking  out  of  their  coat-pockets,  or  with 
long  bowie-knives  protruding  from  the  legs  of 
their  boots. 

The  manager  had  provided  for  these  savage 
people  ;  for  every  member  of  the  company  was 
armed,  and,  at  a  given  signal,  stood  on  the  de- 
fensive. We  had  a  giant  for  a  doorkeeper,  who 
was  known  in  one  evening  to  kick  down  stairs  as 
many  as  five  of  these  bushwhackers,  with  drawn 
knives  in  their  hands.  There  were  two  other 
persons,  employed  ostensibly  as  ushers,  but  really 
to  fight  the  wild  men  of  the  rivers.  These  two 
gentlemen  were  members  of  the  New  York  prize 
ring, — one  of  whom,  I  believe,  went  to  England 


Wild  Life.  191 

with  Heenan  at  the  time  of  the  international 
"  mill,"  and  whose  name  I  saw  in  a  New  York 
paper,  the  other  day,  as  the  trainer  of  a  pugilistic 
celebrity  of  the  present  time. 

The  honest  fellows  scorned  to  use  anything  but 
their  fists  in  preserving  order ;  and  it  is  strange, 
considering  the  number  of  deadly  weapons  drawn 
on  them,  that  they  never  received  anything  worse 
than  a  few  scratches.  -  Nor  did  they,  indeed,  ever 
leave  their  antagonists  with  anything  worse  than 
a  broken  head ;  except  in  a  solitary  case,  which 
befell  at  a  backwoods  landing  on  the  Upper  Mis- 
sissippi, where  a  person  who  had  made  an  un- 
provoked attack  on  the  boats  was  left  for  dead 
upon  the  bank,  as  we  pushed  out  into  the  stream. 
We  never  heard  whether  he  lived  or  died. 

Besides  these  pugilists,  we  had  in  our  company 
other  celebrities ;  for  instance,  the  amiable  and 
gentlemanly  David  Reed,  whose  character-song  of 
"  Sally  come  up  "  made  such  a  furore,  not  long 
ago,  in  New  York,  and,  I  believe,  throughout  the 
country.  His  picture  is  to  be  seen  at  all  the 
music-stores. 

One  other  of  our  company  has  since  had  his 
name  and  exploits  telegraphed  to  the  remotest 


192  Vagabond  Adventures. 

ends  of  the  earth  ;  I  remember  to  have  read  of 
him  myself,  in  a  little  German  newspaper,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Danube.  This  was  Professor  Lowe, 
the  balloonist,  late  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 
I  doubt  much  whether  the  Professor  had  dipped 
very  deeply  into  aeronautics  at  that  time.  He 
was  an  ingenious,  odd  sort  of  Yankee,  with  his 
long  hair  braided  and  hanging  in  two  tails  down 
his  back. 

His  wife,  formerly  a  Paris  danseuse,  was  my  in- 
structor in  the  Terpsichorean  art.  By  the  aid  of 
a  little  whip,  which  she  insisted  was  essential  to 
success,  she  taught  me  to  go  through  all  the  pos- 
turings  and  pirouettes  of,  the  operatic  ballet-girls. 
I  was  forced  often  to  remonstrate  against  the 
ardor  with  which  she  applied  her  whip  to  a  toe 
or  finger  of  mine  that  would  get  perversely  out 
of  the  line  of  beauty. 

Professor  Lowe  and  Madame,  his  wife,  con- 
ducted the  performances  of  the  "  Invisible  Lady," 
a  contrivance  that  may  not  be  familiar  to  all  my 
readers.  A  hollow  brass  ball  with  four  trumpets 
protruding  from  it  is  suspended  inside  of  a  hollow 
railing.  Questions  put  by  the  by-standers  are 
answered  through  a  tube  by  a  person  in  the  apart- 


Wild  Life.  193 

ment  beneath.  The  imaginations  of  the  specta- 
tors make  the  sounds  seem  to  issue  from  the  brass 
ball.  It  used  to  be  amusing  to  stand  by  and  listen 
to  the  answers  of  the  "  Invisible  Lady,"  alias 
Madame  Lowe,  whose  English  was  drolly  mixed 
up  with  her  own  vernacular.  But  if  the  responses 
were  sometimes  unintelligible,  this  only  added  to 
the  mystery  and  success  of  the  brazen  oracle. 

The  Professor  was  passionately  fond  of  game. 
He  was  struck  with  the  abundance  of  turkeys  in 
one  of  the  Southern  States  where  we  chanced  to 
be,  and,  throwing  his  gun  across  his  shoulder, 
sallied  forth  to  bring  some  of  them  down.  He 
returned  shortly  with  two  large  black  birds,  which 
he  exhibited  about  the  decks,  amid  the  grins  and 
suppressed  laughter  of  the  crew.  It  was  not  till 
the  Professor  took  his  game  into  the  kitchen  to 
have  it  dressed  for  dinner  that  he  was  informed, 
not  only  that  his  birds  were  not  turkeys  at  all, 
but  that  he  had  been  breaking  one  of  the  statutes 
of  the  State,  which  prohibits,  under  a  pecuniary 
penalty,  the  killing  of  turkey-buzzards. 

The  Professor  had  a  young  bear  which  he 
bought  for  twenty  dollars  at  some  one  of  our 
stopping-places.  Now  this  was  the  most  mis- 
9  M 


1 94  Vagabond  Adventures. 

chievous  cub  that  I  ever  happened  to  see.  To 
say  nothing  of  the  number  of  stuffed  snakes  and 
pelicans  which  he  -devoured  or  tore  to  pieces, 
the  degree  of  havoc  he  could  make  in  a  trunk 
of  wigs  and  stage  wardrobe  was  something  just 
simply  astounding.  I  have  known  him  to  eat  up, 
or  at  least  cause  to  vanish,  in  the  space  of  a 
single  riotous  hour,  all  that  was  necessary  to  the 
artistic  "  make-up  "  of  three  old  men,  a  half-dozen 
plantation  darkies,  and  I  know  not  how  many 
Shaker  women.  That  was  the  time  when  he 
plundered  a  large  property-box. 

That  bear  was  chained  and  whipped,  and  made 
sick  by  the  necessary  poisons  of  taxidermy,  but  he 
bore  all  with  perfect  cheerfulness.  Three  days 
after  a  contest  with  a  stuffed  animal  he  was  al- 
ways more  playful  than  ever. 

There  was  something  very  ludicrous  in  the 
good-natured  leer  he  put  on  when  the  Professor 
was  experimenting  upon  some  new  way  of  confin- 
ing him.  As  soon  as  the  people  were  well  asleep, 
if  the  bear  chanced  to  have  any  curiosity  about 
the  contents  of  a  lady's  bandbox  in  some  remote 
state-room,  or  about  the  quality  of  the  pantryman's 
supply  of  sugar,  he  was  always  sure  to  break  loose, 


Wild  Life.  195 

and  confiscate  on  his  return  any  odd  pair  of  pan- 
taloons or  boots  that  a  sleeper  had  unconsciously 
exposed  before  retiring.  Thus  it  happened  that 
young  Bruin  had  his  enemies. 

He  had  his  friends,  too,  and  I  was  one  of  them. 
For  there  was  something  very  lovable  about  that 
bear,  after  all :  he  was  so  rollicking,  and  his  black 
hide,  from  the  burnished  peak  of  his  jolly  nose  to 
the  end  of  the  stub  of  his  syncopated  tail,  did  so 
seem  to  gleam  in  the  light  of  hearty  good-fellow- 
ship ! 

He  was  especially  irresistible  when  any  one 
took  notice  of  him  in  his  penal  exile,  away  off 
in  the  dim  region  of  the  gas-machine.  Then 
he  would  lie  over  on  his  young  back  and 
invite  his  friend  to  a  romp,  in  a  manner  that 
showed  hospitality  in  every  movement  of  his 
chubby  paws.  Or  if  in  the  mood  to  receive  his 
visitor  open-armed,  he  would  rise  courteously  on 
his  hind  feet,  his  tongue  hanging  lackadaisically 
out  of  one  side  of  his  mouth,  and  his  roguish  eyes 
assisting  the  smile  which  spread  from  ear  to  ear ; 
and  he  would,  in  short,  look  as  amiably  foolish  and 
sheepish  as  people  are  said  to  look  who  are  about 
to  indulge  in  a  hug. 


196  Vagabond  Adventures. 

If  his  chain  interfered  with  him  at  these  recep- 
tions —  and  it  often  did  —  he  would  turn  his  droll 
orbs  askant  upon  it,  apparently  in  the  same  sort 
of  playful  humor  that  human  prisoners  so  often 
indulge  in  at  the  expense  and  to  the  ridicule  of 
their  bolts  and  bars.  Indeed,  the  young  rascal 
always  carried  a  human  sympathy  with  him. 

By  his  admirers,  at  least,  some  ameliorating 
circumstance  was  sure  to  be  found  in  all  his  most 
daring  and  damaging  exploits.  There  were  some, 
I  believe,  who  tried  to  excuse  even  what  I  shall 
now  have  to  mention  as  the  crowning  atrocity  of 
his  life. 

The  plea  of  his  apologists  was  his  manifest  free- 
dom from  any  shade  of  theological  bias,  as  proved 
by  the  calmly  ludicrous  deliberation  of  the  deed 
itself.  I  will  not  express  an  opinion,  although 
there  is  not  the  least  doubt  in  my  mind  that  the 
doors  of  the  wax-work  cases  should  have  been 
more  securely  fastened.  I  will  merely  say  that 
there  was  something  very  grave  and  candid  with- 
al in  his  manner,  when  caught  in  the  very  act  of 
scalping  one  of  the  Twelve  Apostles. 

This  feat  aroused  his  enemies  to  the  highest 
pitch  of  indignation,  and  they  clamored  for  ven- 


.      Wild  Life.  197 

geance  on  Professor  Lowe's  bear.  The  cub's 
friends,  however,  did  not  desert  him  in  the  hour 
of  his  evil  report.  And  so,  at  last,  a  Guelph  and 
Ghibelline  division  ran  through  the  whole  com- 
pany. 

The  manager,  treasurer,  cook,  pantryman,  such 
gentlemen  as  had  been  left  to  make  their  break- 
fast toilets  without  boots  or  other  more  necessary 
articles  of  apparel,  and  all  the  ladies  even  to  Ma- 
dame Lowe  herself,  were  of  the  anti-bear  party. 

All  the  performers,  except  those  who  had  been 
ravished  of  wigs  and  tights  or  other  miscellaneous 
pieces  of  wardrobe,  the  engineer  of  the  gas-ma- 
chine which  furnished  light  for  the  whole  establish- 
ment, all  the  prize-fighters,  and,  in  a  word,  all  the 
reckless  characters  of  the  two  boats,  headed  by 
the  determined  Professor  himself,  marched,  as  I 
may  say,  figuratively,  under  the  banner  of  the 
bear. 

The  factions  were  about  equally  divided,  and 
equally  impressed  with  the  merit  of  their  respec- 
tive causes.  We  of  the  bear  party,  however,  had 
one  manifest  advantage.  The  captain  of  the 
boats,  jolly  old  William  McCracken  —  as  fat  as 
he  was  jolly,  and  as  honest  as  he  was  fat — was 
on  our  side. 


198  Vagabond  Adventures. 

Such  a  state  of  feeling  could  not,  as  may  be 
well  imagined,  exist  for  any  long  time  among 
so  many  people,  and  in  the  narrow  limits  of  those 
two  boats,  without  some  act  of  aggression  from 
one  side  or  the  other.  And  it  came. 

One  of  the  prize-fighters,  perhaps  in  simple  de- 
fiance to  the  opposition,  and  perhaps  in  a  burst  of 
honest  sympathy  with  the  cub  himself —  I  cannot 
say  which,  for  he  was  of  my  party  —  purloined 
from  the  dressing-room  and  presented  to  young 
Bruin,  in  his  durance,  a  pair  of  cast-off  pantaloons 
in  which  a  certain  minstrel  was  in  the  habit  of 
performing  his  great  act  of  the  "  comb  solo." 

Of  course,  the  actor  was  indignant ;  and,  whether 
in  bodily  fear  of  the  prize-fighter,  or  believing 
what  he  said,  maintained  that  the  infernal  bear 
had  been  loose  again,  and  vowed  that  he  would 
have  his  life.  The  act  of  the  prize-fighter  was 
certainly  ill-advised  and  hazardous,  not  merely  to 
the  pantaloons,  but  to  the  bear  himself.  I  men- 
tion it  as  only  one  more  instance  of  the  danger  in 
which  one  stands  from  his  own  friends,  especially 
if  he  chance  to  be  at  all  prominent  in  times  of 
great  partisan  strife. 

The  cub's  enemies  now  clamored  more  loudly 


Wild  Life.  199 

than  ever  against  him,  stoutly  asserting  that 
chains  and  gas-rooms  were  not  strong  enough  to 
hold  him  ;  and  the  ladies  were  still  more  sure  that 
he  would  bite.  One  young  mother,  I  remember, 
related  that  she  had  heard  of  a  well-authenticated 
instance  wherein  a  single  bear,  I  think  she  said, 
had  come  out  of  the  woods  and  massacred  and 
devoured  forty  children. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  after  the  presenta- 
tion of  the  pantaloons,  a  disguised  band,  headed, 
it  was  afterwards  supposed,  by  the  comb-soloist 
himself,  stealthily  gained  the  prison  of  the  bear, 
broke  his  chain,  and  threw  him  overboard.  The 
next  morning  triumph  was  in  the  faces  of  the 
opposition,  and  surprise  and  grief  in  the  hearts 
of  Professor  Lowe  and  his  liegemen. 

Of  course,  no  one  knew  how  or  when  the  bear 
had  disappeared.  Gradually  the  grins  of  the  anti- 
bears  widened  into  laughter  ;  then  they  spoke  to 
one  another  for  our  benefit,  in  those  peculiar  gib- 
ing tones  which  may  be  called  audible  grins  ;  then 
their  asides  became  soliloquy,  and  finally  straight 
dialogue  addressed  by  victorious  Montagues  to 
aggrieved  Capulets.  Our  side  manifestly  having 
the  worst  of  it,  our  feeble  retorts  were  soon 


2OO  Vagabond  Adventures. 

drowned  in  the  lo  Triumphe  torrent  of  our  ene- 
mies and  the  bear's. 

At  last,  when  the  exulting  taunts  of  the  op- 
position were  at  their  height,  the  Professor  dis- 
covered his  bear,  sitting  very  quietly  and  philo- 
sophically on  the  rudder  of  the  Palace,  to  which 
he  had  swum  and  up  which  he  had  clambered, 
when  thrown  into  the  river  in  the  night.  A  boat 
was  sent  after  him  straightway  ;  and,  for  a  time, 
the  thunderstruck  anti-bear  party  were  crushed. 
Bruin's  receptions  that  day  were  more  popular 
with  his  friends,  if  possible,  than  they  had  ever 
been  before.  He  was  more  than  a  hero,  now ; 
he  was  a  martyr. 

A  ponderous  padlock  was  found  and  placed 
upon  the  door  of  the  gas-room,  and  the  real  leader 
of  our  party  was  considered  safe.  Yet  there  was 
something  ominously  silent  about  the  opposition 
for  the  next  week.  They  made  very  few  threats, 
but  there  was  plainly  murder  in  their  thoughts. 
I  make,  of  course,  no  account  of  those  ignoble 
attempts  of  his  foes  to  prove  that  the  cub,  not- 
withstanding our  defensive  vigilance,  had  once 
more  got  into  the  cases. 

These   tentative   frauds    defeated    themselves 


Wild  Life.  201 

from  the  very  wantonness  in  which  they  were  con- 
ceived. It  was  out  of  all  reason  to  suppose  that 
a  bear  would  have  placed  the  hat  of  the  inebriate 
Tarn  O'Shanter  upon  the  head  of  the  noble  Helen 
Mar ;  and  it  was  still  more  out  of  reason  and  un- 
natural to  think  him  guilty  of  so  arranging  the 
waxen  "father  of  his  country/'  George  Wash- 
ington, that  he  should  be  discovered  the  next 
morning  astride  the  stuffed  alligator,  in  the  exact 
plight  of  that  famous  traveller,  Captain  Water- 
man. 

These  things  were,  in  truth,  too  preposterous 
to  be  entertained  for  a  moment.  If  the  Lady 
Helen  had  been  robbed  of  her  back  hair,  it  was 
argued,  or  if  the  hilarious  reptile  had  been  rent 
limb  from  limb,  or  the  meditative  George  Wash- 
ington had  been  jerked  out  of  his  top-boots  and 
left  prostrate  in  his  case,  with  bald  head  arid  torn 
garments,  there  would  have  been  a  smack  of 
probability  and  of  ursine  humor  and  prowess  in 
the  deeds. 

No,  —  there  was   something   too   absurd   and 

human  about  these  frauds  ;  and  it  was  a  minor 

triumph  for  us  when  they  were  traced  shortly 

afterward,  by  the   irate  manager,  to  a  party  of 

5* 


2O2  Vagabond  Adventures. 

late  wassailers  in  the  drinking-saloon  of  the 
museum. 

I  suppose  we  grew  careless  in  our  manifest 
ascendency,  for  one  morning  at  a  landing  in  a 
wild,  thick-wooded  country  a  hunter  came  on 
board  with  bear-meat  to  sell,  and,  by  a  strange 
fatality,  almost  the  first  man  he  accosted  as  a 
probable  purchaser  was  Professor  Lowe  himself. 
This  reminded  the  great  aeronaut  of  his  own 
animal,  which  he  had  not  yet  visited  that  morn- 
ing. While  the  Professor  was  absent  at  the 
gas-room  one  of  the  opposition  came  up  and 
purchased  what  the  hunter  had  to  sell,  and  bore 
it  to  the  kitchen,  —  exchanging,  by  the  by,  very 
significant  glances  with  those  of  his  party  he  met 
on  the  way. 

In  a  moment  more  the  Professor  was  back,  in 
earnest  conversation  with  the  hunter,  and  it 
spread  like  wildfire  over  the  two  boats  that  the 
cub  was  gone  for  good  this  time,  —  or,  rather, 
that  he  was  cooking  for  dinner.  The  hunter  told 
his  honest  story,  of  how  he  had  been  awakened 
by  his  dogs  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  had 
pursued  and  shot  the  bear.  There  were  a  dozen 
different  traces  going  to  show  that  the  prisoner 


Wild  Life.  203 

of  the  gas-room  had  been  released  by  human 
hands,  and  pursued  on  the  shore  with  sticks  and 
clubs. 

It  never  transpired  exactly  who  were  the  per- 
petrators of  the  foul  deed.  Our  party,  I  need 
scarcely  add,  were  utterly  nonplussed  and  demor- 
alized, while  the  opposition  were  correspondingly 
elate.  And  these  latter,  bent  upon  the  additional 
cannibalism  of  devouring  their  arch  enemy,  had 
him  served  up  at  table  before  our  face  and  eyes. 

But  when  each  of  our  party  had  scornfully  re- 
fused to  partake  of  our  deceased  friend,  and  when 
the  plates  of  the  opposition  were  helped  bounti- 
fully, even  to  those  of  the  ladies,  —  to  whose  credit 
be  it  said,  that  they  turned  their  faces  while  they 
passed  their  plates,  —  a  partisan  of  the  late  cub 
arose  from  his  seat  and  made  a  few  remarks.  In 
a  quiet  but  forcibly  specific  way,  he  called  the 
attention  of  the  banqueters  to  the  amount  of 
stuffed  specimens  they  were  about  to  entertain 
with  their  bear-meat,  and  ended  by  congratulating 
them  upon  the  intimate  knowledge  of  taxidermy 
and  natural  history  which  would  likely  be  the 
result. 

I  think  I  never  knew  a  speech  to  make  so 


2O4  Vagabond  Adventures. 

powerful  an  effect.  The  opposition  party,  almost 
to  a  man,  and  certainly  to  each  individual  woman, 
left  the  table ;  the  remains  of  the  unfortunate  bear 
were  removed,  and  tenderly  consigned  to  the 
river  •  and  his  faithful  friends  ate  their  dinners 
in  a  final  triumph  that  was  half  assured  and 
all  melancholy. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE    PERFORMER     SOCIALLY. 

IN  his  social  relations  a  performer,  like  many 
another  great  man  or  woman,, is  liable  to  mis- 
takes of  head  and  heart.  It  is  a  pretty  generally 
known  fact,  for  instance,  that  the  most  famous 
tenor  of  our  day  is  so  careful  of  his  gloves  as 
to  fly  into  a  towering  rage  with  any  lady  who 
touches  them  with  more  than  her  finger-tips,  in 
the  most  impassioned  duets.  And  a  very  cele- 
brated prima  donna  who  takes  the  world  captive 
as  much  by  the  exceeding  loveliness  of  her  person 
and  manner  as  by  her  wonderful  voice,  is  in  the 
habit  of  beating  her  maid  abominably  two  or 
three  times  a  week. 

It  would,  indeed,  be  an  acute  analysis  which 
should  determine  just  what  it  is  in  the  higher 
walks  of  music  that  makes  the  lives  of  its  special 
votaries  so  strikingly  inharmonious.  He  or  she 
who  has  known  of  an  operatic  company  wherein 


206  Vagabond  Adventures. 

the  four  leading  persons  were  on  speaking  terms 
with  one  another,  off  the  stage,  has  known  a 
remarkable  fact  in  the  history  of  that  peculiar 
class. 

Of  these,  and  of  the  dramatic  profession  proper, 
I  would  perhaps  have  no  right  to  speak  here, 
were  it  not  for  the  fact  that,  in  my  time  at  least, 
there  was  a  sort  of  fraternity  among  all  people 
who  appeared  before  foot-lights.  I  do  not  know 
whether  the  members  of  cork-opera  associate  with 
the  better  class  of  actors  at  this  day ;  but  I  think 
they  do  not.  I  would  venture  to  assert,  however, 
that  among  the  lower  orders  of  actors,  minstrels, 
and  circus-riders  there  ever  will  be  such  a  spirit 
of  bohemianism  —  such  a  touch  of  hearty,  reck- 
less good-nature  —  as  will  always  make  their 
whole  world  kin. 

Indeed,  an  honest  old  professional  friend  of 
mine,  whom  I  met  last  winter,  spoke  of  lecturing 
as  "  the  show-business."  There  may  have  been 
more  or  less  of  truth  in  his  remark.  This,  at  least, 
is  no  time  or  place  to  discuss  the  question.  But 
there  was,  indubitably,  in  this  extending  of  the 
•  right  hand  of  fellowship  from  the  side  show  to  the 
lyceum,  a  fine  illustration  of  the  catholic  spirit 
which  links  the  "  profession  "  together. 


The  Performer  Socially.  207 

Jealousy  may  be  set  down  as  the  chief  failing 
of  the  whole  race,  high  or  low.  I  have  known 
men,  whose  names  have  made  some  noise  in  the 
world,  to  measure  with  straws  the  comparative 
sizes  of  the  letters  in  which  they  were  announced 
on  a  poster.  But  among  minstrels,  especially, 
a  thorough  wordliness  and  boon-companionship 
enable  them  generally  to  be  civil  to  one  another, 
whatsoever  their  private  feelings. 

An  old  showman,  at  last,  comes  to  look  upon 
the  quiet  ways  of  ordinary  life  with  that  same 
kind  of  longing,  romantic  interest  with  which  a 
certain  species  of  imaginative  youth  are  always 
looking  upon  the  impossible  glory  of  travelling 
with  a  show.  A  droll  sighing  for  rural  pursuits 
seems  to  be  the  most  common  form  taken  by  the 
romance  of  your  veteran  itinerant.  Yet,  oddly 
enough,  there  is  scarcely  any  one  whom  he  holds, 
personally,  in  such  ridiculous  contempt  as  he  does 
the  honest  farmer. 

The  vow  which  the  old  sailor  in  the  forecastle 
is  forever  making  to  go  to  sea  no  more,  is  rarely 
remembered  over  three  days  on  land.  And  so  it 
is  with  the  cognate  ideal  which  floats  in  the  queer 
imagination  of  the  old  showman.  I  never  knew 


208  Vagabond  Adventures. 

but  three  or  four  who  attained  anything  like  the 
realization  of  their  romantic  purpose.  Daniel 
Emmet  —  the  author,  I  believe,  of  "  Old  Dan  Tuck- 
er," "  Jordan,"  and  many  of  the  best  known  of  the 
earlier  negro-melodies  —  did,  toward  the  close  of 
his  life,,  so  far  reach  the  fleeting  object  of  his 
bucolic  ambition  as  to  have  a  large,  well-filled 
chicken-coop  in  the  back  yard  of  a  rented  house, 
in  the  suburbs  of  a  great  city. 

This  sentimental  regard  for  nature  was  vented 
by  the  members  of  the  first  companies  with  which 
I  travelled  in  fishing  and  camping  parties  along 
the  borders  of  the  inland  lakes.  They  would 
swallow  most  execrable  amateur  cooking  during 
the  day,  but  a  night  with  beetles  and  mosquitoes 
would, 'as  a  general  thing,  drive  them  back  will- 
ing captives  into  the  arms  of  effete  civiliza- 
tion. 

On  the  Floating  Palace,  Nature  seemed  to  have 
taken  us  so  closely  to  her  bosom,  in  the  wild  lapse 
of  those  majestic  rivers,  that  the  romantic  instinct 
of  the  oldest  showman  expressed  itself  oftenest  in 
lazy  expeditions  to  trap  mocking-birds,  or  in  list- 
lessly dropping  a  line  into  the  stream  for  cat-fish 
and  soft-shelled  turtles. 


The  Performer  Socially.  209 

The  ladies  of  the  profession  are  sometimes 
given  to  gossip  and  backbiting  in  as  great  a  de- 
gree at  least  as  are  the  gentlemen.  Jealousy  may 
be  as  rife  on  a  Mississippi  show-boat  as  in  the 
antechamber  of  any  court  in  Europe.  I  have 
known  a  danseuse  to  furnish  boys  with. clandes- 
tine bouquets  to  throw  on  the  stage  when  she 
appeared  ;  not  that  she  cared  at  all  for  the  praise 
or  blame  of  the  audience,  but  that  she  did  care 
to  crush  a  cleverer  rival.  • 

In  our  company  on  board  the  Palace  and  the 
Raymond  we  had  strange  contrasts  in  human 
nature.  It  would  happen,  for  instance,  that  the 
man  who  could  not  sleep  without  snoring  would 
be  placed  in  the  same  state-room  with  the  man 
who  could  not  sleep  within  hearing  of  the  most 
distant  snore.  The  man  who  could  not  eat  pork 
was  seated  at  table  just  opposite  the  man  who 
doted  on  it.  We  had  one  gentleman  —  the  fleshy 
bass-singer  already  mentioned  —  who  spent  all 
his  leisure  in  catching  mocking-birds  ;  and  an- 
other, who  passed  his  spare  hours  in  contriving 
new  and  undiscoverable  ways  of  letting  these 
birds  escape  from  the  cages. 

There  were  on  board  ladies  who  had  seen  more 


210'  Vagabond  Adventures. 

prosperous  days,  when  they  were  the  chief  attrac- 
tions at  the  theatres  of  London,  Paris,  and  New 
York,  —  according  to  their  own  stories  ;  other 
ladies  who  had  never  associated  with  such  vulgar 
people  before  ;  other  ladies  who  hoped  they  would 
die  if  they  did  not  leave  the  company  at  the  very 
next  landing,  but  never  left ;  and  yet  other  ladies, 
I  am  rejoiced  to  add,  who  were  lovely  in  nature 
and  deed,  —  kind  mothers  and  faithful  wives, 
whose  strength  of  character  and  ready  cheerful- 
ness tended  as  far  as  possible  to  restore  the  social 
equilibrium. 

In  the  course  of  the  long  association  grotesque 
friendships  sprang  up.  The  man  who  played  the 
bass-drum  was  the  bosom  companion  of  the  man 
who  had  charge  of  the  machine  for  making  the 
gas  which  supplied  the  two  boats.  The  pretty 
man  of  the  establishment,  he  who  played  the 
chimes  on  the  top  of  the  museum  and  the  piano 
in  the  concert-room,  —  at  present,  a  popular  com- 
poser at  St.  Louis,  —  this  young  gentleman,  who 
broke  all  the  hearts  of  the  country  girls  that  came 
into  the  show,  was  the  inseparable  friend  of  the 
pilot,  —  a  great,  gruff,  warm-hearted  fellow,  who 
steered  the  Raymond  from  the  corners  of  his  eyes 


The  Performer  Socially.  211 

and  swore  terribly  at  snags.  The  man  who  dust- 
ed down  Tarn  O'Shanter  and  the  Twelve  Apos- 
tles in  wax,  and  had  especial  care  of  the  stuffed 
birds,  giraffes,  and  alligators,  was  on  most  inti- 
mate terms  with  the  cook. 

The  youngest  of  the  ladies  who  hoped  to  die  if 
they  did  n't  go  ashore  at  the  next  landing  and 
never  went,  —  or  died  either,  for  that  matter, — 
well,  she  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  desperately  in 
love  with  the  treasurer  of  the  company,  a  thin, 
irascible  old  fellow  with  a  bald  head.  On  the  ar- 
rival of  another  danseuse  in  the  company,  the  two 
dancers,  who  were  before  deadly  enemies,  became 
sworn  friends  and  confidantes,  united  in  their  jeal- 
ousy and  hatred  of  the  new-comer.  The  lady 
who  was  loudest  "in  proclaiming  that  she  had 
never  before  associated  with  such  low  people  as 
the  performers  on  board  of  these  boats  seemed  to 
enjoy  herself  most,  and  indeed  spent  most  of  her 
time  in  the  society  of  Bridget,  the  Irish  laundry- 
woman  of  the  establishment,  who  on  one  occasion, 
after  excessive  stimulus,  came  very  near  hanging 
herself  overboard  to  dry,  instead  of  a  calico  dress. 

As  a  general  thing,  however,  the  ladies,  per- 
formers, and  crew  of  our  boats  were  not  so  quar- 


212  Vagabond  Adventures. 

relsome  as  I  have  seen  a  set  of  cabin  passengers 
on  a  sea  voyage  between  America  and  Europe,  or 
especially  on  the  three  weeks*  passage  to  or  from 
California.  When  I  consider  that  ther£  were  so 
many  of  us  together  in  this  narrow  compass  for 
nearly  a  year,  it  seems  to  me  strange  indeed  that 
there  was  not  more  bad  blood  excited. 

Madame  Olinza  was,  I  believe,  the  name  of  the 
Polish  lady  who  walked  on  a  tight-rope  from  the 
floor  of  one  end  of  the  museum  up  to  the  roof  of  the 
farthest  gallery.  This  kind  of  perilous  ascension 
and  suspension  was  something  new  in  the  coun- 
try then.  It  was  before  the  time  of  Blondin,  and 
Madame  used  to  produce  a  great  sensation. 

Now  it  may  be  interesting  to  the  general 
reader  to  learn  that  this  tight-rope  walker  was 
one  of  the  most  exemplary,  domestic  little  bodies 
imaginable.  She  and  her  husband  had  a  large 
state-room  on  the  upper  deck  of  the  Raymond, 
and  she  was  always  there  with  her  child  when 
released  from  her  public  duties. 

One  afternoon  the  nurse  happened  to  bring  the 
child  into  the  museum  when  Madame  Olinza  was 
on  the  rope ;  and  out  of  the  vast  audience  that 


The  Performer  Socially.  213 

little  face  was  recognized  by  the  fond  mother,  and 
her  attention  so  distracted  that  she  lost  her  bal- 
ance, dropped  her  pole,  and  fell. 

Catching  the  rope  with  her  hands,  however,  in 
time  to  break  her  fall,  she  escaped  fortunately 
without  the  least  injury ;  but  ever  after  that  her 
child  was  kept  out  of  the  audience  while  she  was 
on  the  rope. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ADIEU    TO    THE    STAGE, 

OING  up  the  Mississippi  from  Cairo,  we 
passed,  one  Sunday,  the  old  French  town 
of  Cape  Girardeau,  Missouri,  and  its  Roman 
Catholic  college  on  the  river-bank.  The  boys 
were  out  on  the  lawn  under  the  trees,  and  I  be- 
came as  envious  of  their  lot  as  I  ever  had  been 
before  of  a  man  who  worked  on  a  steamboat 
or  who  danced  "in  the  minstrels."  I  suddenly 
resolved  that  I  would  go  to  that  college. 

We  did  not  stop  at  Cape  Girardeau  till  our 
return  down  the  river,  some  weeks  afterward. 
Then  I  went  boldly  up,  and  sought  an  interview 
with  the  president  of  the  institution.  I  found 
him  to  be  a  kindly-mannered  priest,  who  encour- 
aged me  in  my  ambition.  He  told  me  it  would 
be  well  to  save  up  more  money  than  I  then  h'ad, 
and  that  he  would  do  all  he  could  for  me.  I  re- 
turned to  the  Palace,  and  immediately  gave  warn- 


Adieu  to  the  Stage.  215 

ing  that  I  purposed  to  leave  as  soon  as  some  one 
could  be  got  to  fill  my  place. 

It  struck  me  as  somewhat  odd  that  it  was  six 
months  from  that  date  before  I  could  get  away. 
It  has  been  explained  to  me  since.  The  fact  is, 
I  received  what,  as  a  boy,  I  thought  a  good  salary, 
but  nothing  like  what  I  earned.  It  took  two  men 
afterwards  to  fill  my  place.  I  have  been  told 
since,  that  more  than  a  year  before  that  time, 
and  prior  to  this  last  engagement,  the  late  E.  P. 
Christy  had  written  for  me  from  New  York,  but 
that  the  letter  had  been  intercepted  by  those 
whose  interest  it  then  was  that  I  should  not  know 
my  own  value  in  the  "  profession." 

I  used  to  see  that  my  name  was  larger  than 
almost  any  other  on  the  bills,  but  was  led  to  be- 
lieve that  it  was  because  I  was  a  boy,  and  not 
likely  to  excite  the  jealousy  of  the  other  mem- 
bers of  the  company.  It  may  not  be  very  sooth- 
ing to  my  vanity,  but,  dwelling  upon  these  things 
dispassionately,  I  have  my  honest  doubts  now 
whether  I  was  not  always  a  greater  success  as  an 
advertisement  than  as  a  performer. 

I  was  promised  at  New  Orleans  that,  if  I  would 
go  over  to  Galveston,  Texas,  with  the  minstrel 


216  Vagabond  Adventures. 

troupe,  I  should  certainly  be  allowed  to  retire  from 
public  life.  So  we  left  the  Palace  and  the  Ray- 
mond at  the  levee  of  the  former  city,  and  took 
passage  in  the  regular  steamship,  crossing  the 
Gulf  to  Galveston.  We  performed  there  two  or 
three  weeks  with  great  success.  Few  minstrels 
then  had  wandered  that  way,  and  thus  it  happened 
that  my  farewell  appearance  as  a  dancer  was 
greeted  with  a  crowded  house.  Except  as  a  poor 
lecturer,  I  have  never  been  on  the  stage  since  I 
left  Galveston. 

Still  resolved  to  go  to  college  at  Cape  Girar- 
deau,  I  returned  to  New  Orleans,  and  took  pas- 
sage to  Cairo  on  the  steamer  L.  M.  Kennett. 
Barney  Williams  and  his  wife  were  on  board 
during  the  tedious  voyage ;  but  I  suppose  they 
have  long  since  forgotten  all  about  the  urchin 
who  surprised  and  bored  them  with  his  minute 
knowledge  of  the  early  history  of  the  country 
through  which  we  passed. 

The  river  above  Cairo,  very  much  to  my  sor- 
row, was  frozen  over,  for  it  was  midwinter.  There 
was  no  alternative  for  me  but  to  proceed  to  Cape 
Girardeau  by  land,  —  a  long,  difficult,  and  ex- 


Adieu  to  the  Stage.  217 

pensive  journey  in  those  times.  After  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  and  some  danger,  I  arrived  at  the 
gates  of  the  College,  and  proceeded  directly  to 
the  room  of  the  president. 

The  kindly  face  that  I  remembered  so  well 
again  beamed  upon  me,  as  I  stood  'before  him 
and  said  that  I  had  come  to  stay  a  year,  at  least, 
at  his  school.  At  his  good-natured  question  as 
to  how  much  money  I  had,  I  emptied  my  pocket 
of  just  thirty-five  dollars  in  gold.  That  was  the 
sum  to  which  the  unforeseen  expenses  of  my  long 
journey  had  reduced  me. 

The  president,  being  aware  that  the  river  was 
frozen,  —  so  that  I  could  not  get  away  even  if  I 
had  had  money  enough  to  go  with,  —  and  having 
much  greater  discretionary  power  than  the  pres- 
idents of  our  Protestant  colleges,  told  me  that  I 
might  stay. 

At  the  end  of  my  year  the  river  was  again 
frozen,  and  the  good  president  was  again  pre- 
vailed upon  to  keep  me  till  the  close  of  that 
college  term,  which  would  be  in  the  middle  of  the 
ensuing  summer.  So  I  was  for  sixteen  months 
in  all  a  student  in  St.  Vincent's  College. 

Most  of  the  students  were  the  sons  of'  French 
10 


218  Vagabond  Adventures. 

planters  of  Louisiana,  and  the  institution  was 
more  French  than  English.  Things  were  ordered 
very  much  as  they  are  in  the  religious  houses  of 
Europe.  We  slept  in  large  dormitories,  and  ate 
in  a  refectory,  some  one  reading  aloud  the  while 
from  an  English  or  French  book.  The  College 
had  its  own  tailors  and  shoemakers ;  and  by  the 
favor  of  the  president,  who  seemed  to  take  a  great 
liking  to  me,  my  credit  was  made  good  for  any- 
thing I  wanted,  and  I  was  provided  for  as  well 
as  the  richest  of  them. 

The  instructors  were  all  priests,  and  generally 
good  men.  They  never  required  me  to  change 
my  religion,  or  to  conform  more  than  externally 
to  their  worship.  I  applied  myself  so  zealously 
to  study  that,  at  the  expiration  of  my  sixteen 
months,  I  was  nearly  prepared  to  enter  Kenyon 
College,  in  which  I  spent  the  next  four  years. 

The  president  of  St.  Vincent's,  Father  Ste- 
phen V.  Ryan,  has  since  met  the  recognition 
which  his  piety  and  abilities  so  justly  deserved. 
He  is  now  the  venerable  Roman  Catholic  Bishop 
of  Buffalo  ;  and  it  is  with  no  little  pride  that  I 
still  class  him  among  my  most  valued  and  con- 
stant friends. 


Adieu  to  the  Stage.  219 

When  I  came  to  leave  St.  Vincent's  I  drew  out 
a  deposit  which  I  had  in  a  bank  in  Toledo,  and 
gave  it  into  the  hands  of  the  College  treasurer,  re- 
serving for  myself  only  what  I  thought  would  be 
enough  to  take  me  back  to  Ohio. 

As  good  luck  would  have  it,  the  little  steamer 
Banjo,  a  show-boat  belonging  to  Dr.  Spaulding, 
the  manager  of  the  Floating  Palace,  was  adver- 
tised to  be  at  Cape  Girardeau  the  week  in  which 
I  purposed  to  leave  there.  Seeing  the  names  of 
some  of  my  old  comrades  on  the  bills,  I  waited  to 
meet  them.  They  generously  made  me  bring 
my  trunk  on  board,  and  have  a  free  ride  to  St. 
Louis,  or,  if  I  chose,  to  Alton,  where  I  was  to 
take  the  cars  for  Chicago. 

The  remembrance  of  this  trip  up  the  river  with 
these  jovial,  reckless  souls  has  made  it  my  duty 
always  to  defend  my  old  associates  when  I  hear  ' 
the  censure  heaped  on  them  by  inconsiderate  ig- 
norance or  blind  prejudice.  And  I  can  take  my 
final  leave  of  the  show  business  and  of  show  peo- 
ple in  no  better  way,  I  think,  than  in  relating  an 
incident  which  occurred  on  this  little  steamer. 

On  the  afternoon  before  our  arrival  at  Alton,  as 
I  was  sitting  on  the  deck  by  the  side  of  one  of 


220  Vagabond  Adventures. 

the  performers,  Mr.  Edwin  Davis,  who  had 
been  a  member  of  our  company  on  the  Floating 
Palace,  he  asked  me  to  let  him  see  my  money, 
adding  that  I  might  have  had  imposed  upon  me 
some  of  the  "  wild-cat "  bills  then  afloat.  Taking 
out  all  I  had,  I  placed  it  in  his  hands.  He  count- 
ed it,  and  scrutinized  it  thoroughly,  and,  folding 
it  up  carefully,  returned  it  to  me  with  the  remark 
that  my  bills  were  all  good. 

I  had  no.  occasion  to  use  my  money  till  I  came 
to  pay  my  railway  fare  at  Alton,  when  I  discovered 
that  my  wealth  had  increased  by  nearly  half.  He 
had,  indeed,  been  a  better  judge  than  myself  of 
my  necessities ;  for,  with  his  generous  addition, 
I  had  barely  enough  to  take  me  to  my  desti- 
nation. 

I  met  Mr.  Davis  in  New  York,  years  afterward, 
and  offered  him  the  sum  he  had  added  to  mine, 
but  could  not  prevail  upon  him  to  take  it.  And 
this  is  the  way  he  stated  his  reason :  "  No  ;  it 
does  not  belong  to  me.  Keep  it  you,  till  you  see 
some  poor  fellow  as  much  in  need  of  it  as  you 
were  then  on  the  Mississippi,  and  give  it  to  him." 


BOOK    III. 


THE    TOUR    OF    EUROPE    FOR    $  181    IN 
CURRENCY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

STARTING    ON    A    CATTLE-TRAIN. 

I  CANNOT  tell  when  the  idea  of  going  abroad 
first  came  into  my  mind,  but,  in  a  little  jour- 
nal kept  in  my  thirteenth  year  while  travelling 
with  the  minstrels,  I  find  the  fact  that  I  was 
going  to  Europe  alluded  to  as  a  matter  of  which 
there  was  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt 

There  is  a  jolly  sort  of  beggar  in  San  Fran- 
cisco who  says  hope  is  worth  twenty-five  dollars  a 
month.  It  must  be  that  I  shared  with  him  his 
principal  income  during  the  four  years  of  col- 
lege life  which  almost  immediately  succeeded  my 
wanderings  as  a  minstrel,  and  which  launched  me 
again  on  the  world  at  twenty.  What  else  besides 
the  hope  of  Continental  travel  sustained  me  dur- 
ing those  four  years  I  cannot  now  say.  My 
pecuniary  resources  for  that  whole  period  were 
so  small  that  they  have  tapered  entirely  out  of 
my  remembrance. 


224  Vagabond  Adventures. 

Leaving  college,  I  had  served,  I  recollect,  but 
,  a  few  months  in  the  post-office  of  Toledo,  Ohio, 
when  I  took  a  deliberate  account  of  my  savings 
one  morning,  and  was  gratified.  I  found  in  my 
possession  too  large  a  sum  to  permit  of  defer- 
ring the  realization  of  my  long-cherished  dream 
another  day. 

Counting  my  money  over  and  over,  I  could 
make  no  less  of  it  than  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
one  dollars,  in  new  United  States  treasury-notes  ; 
and  I  resigned  "  mine  office/'  not  with  the  heart- 
broken feeling  of  Richelieu,  in  the  play,  but  still, 
like  him,  with  the  lingering  cares  of  Europe  on 
my  mind. 

Not  the  smallest  fraction  of  this  vast  sum,  I 
.had  resolved,  should  be  squandered  on  the  ephem- 
.  eral  railroads  of  our  younger  civilization.  My 
treasury-notes  were  to  be  dedicated,  green,  vo- 
tive offerings,  on  the  older  shrines  of  our  race. 
But  the  city  of  Toledo  is  situated  about  seven 
hundred  miles  from  the  sea,  and  it  now  became 
an  interesting  question  how  this  distance  was  to 
be  compassed  for  —  nothing. 

To  a  good-natured  friend  of  mine  in  one  of 


Starting  on  a  Cattle-Train.        225 

the  railroad  offices  I  explained,  at  considerable 
length,  and  with  no  lack,  I  flatter  myself,  of 
boyish  eloquence,  the  great  advantage  that 
would  accrue  to  me  from  a  residence  in  Europe 
which  the  liberality  of  the  companies,  in  the 
matter  of  furnishing  passes,  would  tend  to  pro- 
long. 

I  think  he  became  my  convert,  for  he  came  to 
me,  several  hours  afterward,  with  a  long  face,  and 
gave  me  to  understand  that  the  railroad  officials 
were  in  the  habit  of  building  no  dreams  of 
aesthetics  that  were  not  founded  on  a  ground- 
plan  of  dollars  and  cents. 

At  this  I  became  —  I  do  not  know  which  to 
say  —  desperately  vindictive  or  vindictively  des- 
perate. Anyway,  the  unfeeling  conduct  of  those 
corporations  induced,  then  and  there,  a  state  of 
mind  which  led  me  into  an  adventure  the  least 
calculated,  probably,  of  any  in  this  history  to  es- 
tablish my  claims  as  a  moral  hero.  The  next 
morning  I  brought  my  trunk  down  to  the  depot 
and  had  it  checked  through  to  New  York.  The 
rules  seem  not  to  have  been  so  strictly  observed 
then  as  they  are  now.  The  baggage-master  in 
this  instance,  at  least,  taking  for  granted  that  I 
10*  o 


226  Vagabond  Adventures. 

had  already  secured  my  ticket,  did  not  ask  rne  to 
show  it;  and  I  was  at  liberty  to  stroll  about  the 
station  all  day,  listlessly. 

Just  before  dusk  a  cattle-train  arrived  from  the 
West  and  brought  with  it  a  lucky  thought.  I 
scanned  the  faces  of  the  drovers  till  I  found  one 
that  looked  benevolent,  and  the  owner  of  it  I  en- 
gaged in  conversation.  He  was  going  on  East 
with  his  cattle  the  next  morning,  and  I  made  a 
plain  statement  of  my  case  to  him.  When  I  had 
done,  he  patted  me  on  the  t>ack  in  such  a  cordial 
and  stalwart  manner,  that  —  as  soon  as  I  could 
get  my  breath  —  I  took  it  all  as  a  good  augury. 
And  so  it  was. 

I  wish  I  could  reproduce  more  of  the  dialogue 
which  took  place  between  this  honest  Westerner 
and  myself,  at  that  first  interview.  Some  of  it, 
at  least,  I  never  shall  forget,  it  impressed  me  as 
so  extraordinary  at  the  time.  I  can,  however, 
convey  no  idea  of  the  contrast  between  his  mild 
kindly  face  and  his  harsh  bovine  voice.  It  may 
help  you  to  a  kind  of  silhouette  view  of  the  situ- 
ation, if  you  will  take  the  pains  to  imagine  the 
frequent  excursions  of  my  puzzled  attention  from 
his  face  to  his  voice,  during  the  scene  which  im- 
mediately followed. 


Starting  on  a  Cattle-Train.        227 

H£  had  given  me  to  understand  that  he  had 
eight  car-loads  of"  live  stock,  and  that  he  was 
entitled  to  a  drover's  pass  for  every  four  car-loads. 
Then  he  suddenly  paused,  thrust  both  hands  into 
the  pockets  of  his  long-skirted  coat,  and,  feeling 
about  in  those  spacious  alcoves  for  a  silent  mo- 
ment as  if  in  search  of  something,  he  asked,  in 
an  abrupt  bass  which  seemed  to  issue .  from  the 
depths  of  the  coat-tails  themselves, — 

"How  air  you — on  cattle?" 

That  was  before  the  days  of  Mr.  Bergh  and 
his  excellent  society ;  but,  having  consulted  the 
speaker's  benevolent  face  and  not  his  voice,  as 
the  last  authority  on  the  meaning  of  his  question, 
I  answered  that  I  was  very  kind  to  cattle  as 
a  general  thing. 

That,  he  assured  me,  was  not  exactly  what  he 
meant ;  he  wanted  to  know  whether  I  had  ever 
done  any  "droving."  On  my  intimating  that, 
although  I  had  not  had  much  experience,  I  was 
perfectly  willing  to  be  of  service,  "  Never  mind, 
never  mind,"  he  said  ;  "  but  can  you  play  cards  ? " 

"  No,"  was  my  ingenuous  reply. 

"Now  that's  bad,"  and  he  scratched  his  head 
vigorously.  "Can  you  smoke,  then?" 


228  Vagabond  Adventures. 

"A  little,"  faltered  I. 

My  new-made  friend  seemed  much  pleased  by 
this  response,  and  continued,  — 

"All  right ;  you  jist  git  a  lot  of  clay  pipes  and 
some  tobaccy,  and  I  '11  git  you  a  pass  ! " 

As  I  was  turning  in  utter  bewilderment  to 
have  his  strange  prescription  filled,  "  I  say,  look  a 
here,"  he  said;  "take  off  all  that  nice  harness, 
or  you  can't  pass  for  no  cattle-man !  I  '11  lend 
you  some  old  clothes  and  a  pair  of  big  boots. 
These  stock  conductors  is  right  peert,  they  air. 
You'll  have  to  smoke  a  heap,  and  lay  around 
careless  in  the  caboose,  or  they'll  find  you  out." 

The  next  morning  I  took  my  seat  in  what  he 
called  the  "caboose,"  —  a  sort  of  passenger-car  at 
the  end  of  the  train.  When  we  had  been  under 
way  about  an  hour,  the  burden  of  my  own  con- 
science, or  of  my  friend's  boots,  or  the  contem- 
plation of  my  unsightly  disguise,  or  the  amount 
of  tobacco  I  had  smoked,  made  me  deathly  sick, 
—  which,  on  the  whole,  was  rather  a  fortunate 
circumstance.  It  explained  to  the  conductor  why 
I  did  not  get  out  at  the  way-stations  to  tend  my 
cattle,  and  it  also  enabled  me  to  hide  my  face 


Starting  on  a  Cattle-Train.       229 

> 

from  the  conductor,  to  whom  *I  happened  to  be 
known. 

I  found,  as  most  boys  do,  that  I  could  smoke 
better  the  farther  I  got  from  home.  What  with 
stopping  to  let  our  cattle  rest  and  other  delays, 
it  took  us  nearly  a  week  to  reach  New  York; 
but  before  three  days  had  passed  I  could  perform 
the  astonishing  feat  of  putting  my  friend's  boots 
out  of  the  car  window,  and  of  smoking  serenely 
the  while,  without  touching  my  pipe  with  my 
hands. 

All  the  hotels  at  which  we  stopped  along  the 
route  seemed,  like  the  cremeries  of  Paris,  to  ex- 
ult in  the  importance  of  a  spfcialitt ;  and  that 
was  that  they  were  supported  almost  entirely  by 
drovers,  and  assumed,  without  a  single  exception 
that  I  can  call  to  mind,  the  device  and  title  of 
"The  Bull's  Head." 

There  was  a  smack  of  old  times  in  the  homely 
comforts  as  well  as  in  the  moderate  charges  of 
these  quiet  taverns.  My  expenses  on  the  whole 
journey  from  Toledo  to  the  sea  were,  if  I  recol- 
lect aright,  a  little  over  three  dollars. 


CHAPTER    II. 

TAKING   TO    EUROPEAN   WAYS. 

.  A  T  New  York  I  found  that  I  should  be  obliged 
-^**  to  pay  130  for  exchange  on  my  money.  This 
I  did,  after  buying  a  through  third-class  ticket  to 
London  for  thirty-three  dollars  in  currency. 

My  memories  of  a  steerage  passage  across  the 
Atlantic  are  rather  vivid  than  agreeable.  Among 
all  my  fellow-passengers  in  that  unsavory  precinct 
I  found  only  one  philosopher.  He  was  a  British 
officer  who  took  a  third-class  ticket  that  he  might 
spend  the  difference  between  that  and  a  cabin 
fare  for  English  porter,  which  he  imbibed  from 
morning  to  night.  He  announced  as  his  firm  be- 
lief, after  much  observation  upon  the  high  cheek- 
bones of  our  countrymen,  that  the  Americans  in 
a  few  years  would  degenerate  to  Indians,  —  the 
natural  human  types  of  this  continent. 

It  was  during  the  World's  Fair  that  I  arrived 
in  London.  My  whole  life  there  might  be  writ- 


Taking  to  European   Ways.        231 

ten  down  under  the  general  title  of  "  The  Adven- 
tures of  a  Straw  Hat,"  for  the  one  which  I  wore 
was  the  signal  for  all  the  sharpers  of  that  great 
city  to  practise  their  arts  upon  me.  They  took 
me  for  some  country  youth  come  up  to  see  the 
Exhibition,  and  the  number  of  skittle-alleys  and 
thief  dens  into  which  they  enticed  me  was,  to  say 
the  least,  remarkable. 

Through  the  friendly  advice  of  a  police  detec- 
tive, I  was  finally  prevailed  upon  to  purchase  a 
new  English  hat,  and  with  this,  as  a  sort  of  aegis, 
I  passed  out  of  the  British  dominions,  without 
being  robbed,  —  and,  indeed,  without  much  of 
which  to  be  robbed. 

At  Paris  I  witnessed  the  magnificent  fetes  of 
the  Emperor,  and  took  the  third-class  cars  for 
Strasbourg  and  Heidelberg.  At  this  latter  city, 
with  a  sum  equal  to  nearly  eighty  dollars  in  gold, 
I  proposed  for  an  indefinite  series  of  years,  to 
become  a  student  of  the  far-famed  Karl-Rupert 
University. 

I  was  not  happy  in  Heidelberg,  therefore,  till  I 
had  experienced  the  mystery  of  academic  matric- 
ulation. All  I  can  recall  of  that  long  ceremony 
now  is,  that  I  had  the  honor  of  shaking  hands  — 


232  Vagabond  Adventures. 

sancte  dataque  dextra  pollicitus  est  is  the  language 
in  which  my  diploma  speaks  of  me,  commemo- 
rating, I  believe,  that  impressive  moment  —  over 
my  passport  with  a  large-moustached  German 
official ;  and  that  I  furthermore  had  the  privilege 
of  paying  a  fee  of  eleven  guldens  and  twenty-six 
kreutzers,  —  a  little  over  four  and  a  half  dollars. 

After  much  search  and  many  unintelligible  ap- 
peals in  bad  German,  through  wellnigh  every  din- 
gy street  of  Heidelberg,  I  finally  secured  a  room 
for  two  guldens  —  eighty  cents  —  a  month  :  and 
such  a  room !  It  was  on  the  story  next  to  the 
clouds.  It  seemed  to  be  cut  into  the  high  gable  of 
the  gray  old  German  house  by  some  freak  or  after- 
thought of  the  architect.  It  was  reached  by  in- 
terminable staircases  and  through  a  long  hall,  or 
passage-way,  whose  unplastered  walls  were  hung 
with  the  rubbish  of  many  generations.  It  was 
just  large  enough  to  permit  of  my  turning  round, 
after  furnishing  nooks  and  corners  for  a  bed,  book- 
case, wash-stand,  and  small,  semicircular  table ; 
but  all  was  neat  and  clean,  for  my  room  was  sub- 
ject, like  the  rest  of  the  German  world,  to  the 
regular  Saturday's  inundation  of  soap  and  water. 

Directly  opposite,  on  the  other  side  of  the  nar- 


Taking  to  European   Ways.       233 

row  street,  but  far,  far  below,  was  the  shop  of  a 
sausage-maker.  If  I  had  been  an  enthusiast  in 
mechanics,  I  should  have  found  much  consolation 
in  this  fact,  as  well  as  a  great  d^al  "to  lead  hope 
on "  ;  because  a  sausage-maker's  apprentice  is 
really,  if  not  perpetual  motion  itself,  a  strong  in- 
ductive argument  in  favor  of  its  future  discovery. 
The  one  to  whom  I  have  alluded  kept  up  a  con- 
tinual hacking,  day  and  night,  week-day  and  Sun- 
day. The  sound  of  his  meat-axe  met  my  ears  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning  and  the  last  thing  at 
night ;  it  was,  in  fact,  my  matin  and  my  angelus 
bell. 

But,  by  a  principle  of  compensation,  which  is 
one  of  the  kindliest  things  in  nature,  this  little 
nook  had  advantages  of  which  prouder  apartments 
could  not  boast.  I  never  had,  before  or  since,  a 
room  in  which  I  could  apply  myself  to  study  so 
assiduously  or  with  so  great  a  zest.  It  seemed  to 
be  haunted  with  the  great  spirits  of  those  who 
have  trimmed  their  lamps  in  garrets  and  left  the 
world  better  for  their  toils. 

This  may  have  been  a  boyish  hallucination, 
but  I  shall  always  believe  that  the  most  glorious 
view  of  the  famous  Heidelberg  castle,  the  Mol- 


234  Vagabond  Adventures. 

kenkur,  and  the  lofty  peak  of  the  Kaiserstuhl,  is 
to  be  had  from  the  one  narrow  window  of  my 
aerial  niche  in  the  dark  German  gable. 

The  old  castle  frowned  down  upon  me  from 
the  brow  of  the  mountain  just  above  my  head; 
and  often  of  an  evening  have  I  leaned  upon  my 
little  window-sill,  and  gazed  up  at  its  ruined  bat- 
tlements and  ivy-mantled  towers.  As  they  grew 
dimmer  and  grayer  in  the  waning  light,  the 
rents  and  seams  of  centuries  disappeared,  and 
the  palace  of  the  old  Electors  used  to  stand  be- 
fore me  in  its  ancient  pride. 

It  may  not  be  generally  known  that  the  day- 
laborer  of  America  has  better  food  and  more 
of  it  than  many  a  wealthy  burgher  of  Central 
Europe.  Only  the  very  few,  in  Germany,  can  in- 
dulge in  beefsteaks  for  breakfast.  I  soon  learned 
to  conform  myself  to  the  cup  of  coffee  and  piece 
of  dry  bread  of  the  German's  morning  repast. 

But  as  I  became  better  acquainted,  and  grad- 
ually more  impecunious,  I  left  the  cafe  where  I  had 
before  partaken  of  these  luxuries,  and  betook  my- 
self to  a  baker's  shop,  where  a  breakfast  of  the 
same  kind  was  furnished  me,  in  company  with 
market-women  and  others,  for  four  kreutzers,  — 


Taking  to  European   Ways.        235 

about  three  cents.  If  I  could  sometimes  have 
wished  for  a  more  liberal  allowance  of  sugar  in 
my  coffee,  in  this  humble  refectory,  I  never  could 
complain  of  a  lack  of  sweetness  in  the  morning 
gossip  of  the  baker's  red-cheeked  daughter. 

The  search  for*the  very  cheapest  place  to  get 
my  dinner  was  not  the  work  of  one  day,  .or  unat- 
tended with  some  difficulty  and  much  skirmishing. 
I  bethought  myself  of  my  sausage-making  friend 
across  the  way.  Indeed,  it  was  a  long  while  be- 
fore I  became  so  used  to  the  staccato  music  of 
his  meat-axe  as  to  keep  from  thinking  of  him 
most  of  the  time.  Engaged  as  he  was  in  the 
active  production  of  food,  he  must  certainly,  I 
argued,  know  something  of  cheap  dinners.  I 
therefore  made  a  descent  on  the  meat-shop  one 
day. 

No  notice  whatever  was  taken  of  my  knock ;  so, 
pushing  the  door  open,  I  stood  before  a  dwarfed, 
long-aproned,  pale-faced  boy,  who  turned  his  hun- 
gry eyes  upon  me,  but  did  not  cease"  his  hack- 
ing. I  launched  forth  in  the  kind  —  I  may  say, 
•the  peculiar  kind  —  of  colloquial  German  I  had 
learned  in  my  three  weeks'  sojourn  in  his  country. 


236  Vagabond  Adventures. 

After  I  had  talked  some  time,  the  boy,  giving  no 
rest  to  his  meat-axe,  but  every  once  in  a  while 
looking  furtively  over  his  shoulder,  asked,  — 

"  Do  you  want  any  Wurst?" 

"  Sausage  ?     No,  no.", 

And  I  began  again,  in  my  original  German,  and 
explained  at  greater  length  that  I  was  in  search 
of  a  place  to  get  a  cheap  dinner.  The  boy  laid 
down  his  meat-axe,  eyed  me  a  few  seconds  in  aw- 
ful silence,  then  glanced  apprehensively  over  his 
shoulder,  took  up  his  meat-axe  again,  and  went  to 
work  more  lustily  than  ever. 

There  was  this  much  about  it :  either  the  boy 
was  deaf,  or  we  stood  somewhat  iix  the  relation 
of  the  two  English  girls  in  Hood's  story,  —  he 
could  speak  German  and  did  not  understand 
it,  and  I  could  understand  German  and  not  speak 
it.  Still,  rather  pleased  than  otherwise  at  such  a 
chance  to  air  my  newly  acquired  speech,  and  on 
the  whole  not  a  little  gratified  with  my  quick 
mastery  of  the  language,  I  began  in  a  higher  key, 
and,  approaching  nearer  and  nearer,  demanded  in 
the  sausage-maker's  ear  whether  he  knew  of  a 
place  to  get  a  chfeap  dinner. 

Down  went  the  meat-axe  again,  and,  with  eyes 


Taking  to  E^lropean   Ways.       237 

and  mouth  wide  open,  the  boy  stood  speechless 
before  me. 

Thus  we  were  both  inanely  staring  at  each 
other  when  the  back  door  flew  open,  and  a  burly 
lump  of  tumid  humanity  stumbled  through  it  with 
a  curse,  wanting  to  know  why  the  boy  was  not 
at  work.  The  poor  apprentice  caught  up  his 
cleaver  again,  and  I  faced  the  man  who  had 
just  entered. 

"  Do  you  want  any  Wurst  ? "  he  asked. 

"  No,  no."  And  I  went  over  the  whole  story 
once  more  with  such  perspicuity  as  shipwrecked 
patience  would  naturally  inspire  in  a  person  thor- 
oughly at  sea  in  a  language.  In  the  thick  of  my 
oration  I  detected  a  cloudy  gleam  of  intelligence 
spreading  itself  over  the  red  face  of  my  hearer. 
My  eloquence  had  touched  him.  at  last.  I  had 
not  quite  reached  my  peroration  when  — 

"  Dock ! "  interrupted  my  fat  friend,  as  he 
pulled  me  briskly  to  the  door.  "  You  see  that 
shop,  three  houses  farther  down  the  street  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  You  are  sure  you  see  the  right  one  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes." 

"  Well,  you  go  right  down  there.     There  is  a 


238  Vagabond  Adventures. 

Frenchman  down  there.  His  wife  is  from  Italy. 
I  think,  maybe,  he  can  understand  the  Russian 
language  :  /  can't ! "  fc 

It  was  at  that  moment,  I  think,  I  learned  to 
make  the  distinction  between  the  degrees  of 
benefit  one  derives  from  a  book-knowledge  of 
a  language :  it  may  help  you  to  understand 
others,  but  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  help  others  to 
understand  you. 

While  on  this  subject  I  may  be  pardoned,  I 
hope,  for  telling  of  the  more  expeditious  way  I 
adopted  to  acquire  the  other  modern  tongues, 
which  my  subsequent  poverty  rather  than  any 
extraordinary  ambition  induced  me  to  learn,  in 
order  to  preserve  the  disguise  of  which  I  shall 
tell  you  presently. 

On  going  into  an  unfamiliar  country  for  the 
first  time,  I  shut  myself  up  in  some  cheap  garret, 
with'  a  grammar,  for  a  couple  of  weeks.  Then 
I  sallied  forth  with  a  pocket-dictionary,  and 
captured  some  worthless  young  fellow  without 
friends  or  employment.  To  this  luckless  person 
I  cleaved  without  mercy.  I  followed  him  —  if  I 
could  not  make  him  follow  me  —  everywhere, 


Taking  to  European   Ways.       239 

and  talked  at  him  and  made  him  talk.  I  argued 
with  him  over  his  three  sous'  worth  of  chocolate, 
if  we  were  in  France,  or  over  his  boiled  beans 
and  olive-oil,  if  we  were  in  Italy. 

I  asked  him  questions  about  everything,  if  we 
walked  together  in  the  streets  ;  and,  by  the  way, 
is  it  not  truly  wonderful  how  much  one  has'  to 
say  when  he  has  a  difficulty  in  saying  it  ?  You 
may  have  noticed  that  a  man  who  stutters,  or  has 
a  hair-lip,  is  always  talking.  He  who  learns  a 
new  language  is  invariably  troubled  with  the 
same  fruitful  suggestiveness,  and  often,  too,  with 
a  more  distressful  execution. 

If,  therefore,  the  patience  of  my  friendless 
tutor  would  sometimes  flag,  I  would  attempt  to 
make  him  understand  my  glowing  accounts  of 
the  comparative  wealth  of  such  vagrants  as  he 
was  in  my  own  prosperous,  poor  man's  country, 
advising  him  to  immigrate.  This  occasionally 
would  have  the  effect  of  restoring  him  to  a  feeble 
interest  in  life. 

But  if  he  would  still  persist  in  his  low  spirits, 
and  find  himself  on  the  verge  of  asking  me  why 
I  did  not  myself  go  back  to  my  Eldorado  of  good- 
for-nothings,  where  he,  no  doubtz  heartily  wished 


240  Vagabond  Adventures. 

me,  then,  at  that  last  critical  stage  of  his  gloom,  , 
I  would  soothe  and  cheer  him  with  a  penny  cigar. 
.  Generally  speaking,  this  will  not  fail  thoroughly 
to  overcome  your  Old  World  vagabond.  He  will 
talk,  and  even  listen,  after  that.  The  only  diffi- 
culty is  to  know  just  when  to  administer  to  him 
the  cigar:  he  must  not  be  pampered  or  spoiled 
by  undue  indulgence  and  luxury. 

At  first,  when  I  commenced  my  experiments 
on  these  unfortunate  beings,  and  I  could  see 
them  wince  under  my  laceration  of  their  helpless 
mother-tongue,  I  had  slight  qualms  of  conscience. 
Learning  to  quiet  these  at  last,  however,  I  fast- 
ened myself  on  the  most  intelligent  vagrant  at 
hand,  with  an  almost  faultless  pre-calculation  of 
my  man,  and  subjected  him  to  my  tortures  with 
a  triumphant  sense  of  virtue  in  the  act,  far  tran- 
scending, I  fancy,  that  experienced  by  your  en- 
thusiastic savant  when  substantiating  some  pet 
theory  on  a  living  criminal. 

Nothing,  I  am  sure,  ever  before  impressed  me 
so  highly  with  the  modest  merit  that  may  lie  con- 
cealed in  vagrancy.  It  would  be  positively  sur- 
prising to  any  one  who  has  not  enjoyed  the 
advantage  of  this  desperate  method  of  mastering 


Taking  to  European   Ways.       241 

the  colloquial  speech  of  a  country,  if  I  should 
tell  how  soon  I  was  enabled  by  it  to  drop  my 
humble  tutor,  and,  moving  out  of  his  neighbor- 
hood to  some  other  city  in  the  same  state,  to 
utilize  and  practise  upon  more  pretending  per- 
sons, in  a  higher  grade  of  society. 


ii 


CHAPTER    III. 

STUDENT   LIFE   AND    WANDERINGS. 

"OUT  I  must  get  back  to  Heidelberg,  where 
•*-*  the  sympathetic  reader  will  not,  I  trust, 
have  imagined  that  I  went  all  this  time  without 
dinners  because  the  search  for  one  which  should 
be  the  ultima  Thule  of  cheapness  was  embarrass- 
ing and  adventurous.  I  found  a  place,  at  last, 
where  a  homely  abundant  midday  meal  was  fur- 
nished me  in  a  private  family,  for  one  gulden  and 
twenty-six  kreutzers  per  week,  —  a  fraction  over 
eight  cents  a  day.  My  supper  I  took  at  a  Cast- 
haus,  in  company  with  some  theological  students, 
at  the  cost  of  about  four  cents. 

Many  of  my  countrymen,  who  have  spent  large 
sums  in  endeavoring  to  live  cheaply  in  the  same 
city,  will  of  course  believe  nothing  of  this.  They 
have  paid  dearly  for  the  privilege  of  being 
Americans.  They  date  their  experiences  from 
hotels  supplied  with  waiters  who  speak  our 


Student  Life  and  Wanderings.     243 

language,  and  have  dealt  at  shops  on  whose 
windows  they  have  seen  blazoned  in  golden  let- 
ters, "  ENGLISH  SPOKEN."  They  have,  in  reality, 
paid  the  teacher  who  taught  these  waiters  and 
those  shop-keepers  to  murder  our  own  vernac- 
ular. 

By  matriculating  at  the  great  University  of 
Heidelberg,  I  became  endowed  with  all  the  time- 
honored  privileges  of  students.  I  could  not-be 
arrested  or  taken  through  the  streets,  if  I  had 
been  guilty  of  an  ordinary  crime ;  I  could  not 
be  confined  in  a  common  prison  or  go  to  a  com- 
mon hospital,  the  University  having  those  insti- 
tutions for  its  own  particular  benefit. 

And  poverty  seemed  there  to  have  lost  its 
curse.  The  very  fact  of  my  being  a  student  put 
me  on  a  social  scale  above  that  of  the  wealthy 
merchant.  This,  however,  may  have  been  only 
in  the  estimation  of  the  collegians  themselves. 

A  fellow-student  thought  some  of  going  to 
America,  and  propounded  the  following  question : 
"  But  when  I  arrive,  I  shall  not  have  any  money, 
and  I  shall  know  nothing  of  the  language  of  the 
country  ;  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  Go  to  work  !  "  said  I. 


244  Vagabond  Adventures. 

"  What  ?  manual  labor !  I  am  too  aristo- 
cratic ! " 

That  young  man,  let  me  add,  was  then  living 
on  an  income  of  one  hundred  and  ten  dollars  a 
year. 

The  German  student  must  have  his  pipe,  his 
beer,  and  a  life  of  pleasure  at  whatever  sacrifice. 
If  he  is  rich,  he  pays  some  attention  to  his  person- 
al appearance.  You  will  see  him  adorned  with 
boots  of  immense  length  ;  corps  caps  and  ribbons  ; 
the  number  of  his  duels  scored  on  his  red  face  in 
ungainly  sword-scars ;  and  followed  by  a  retinue 
of  sinecurists,  in  the  shape  of  great  ugly  worth- 
less dogs.  His  life  is  a  continued  sacrifice  to  the 
merry  gods.  He  is  rarely  seen  at  lectures. 

Indeed,  there  is  one  society  or  club  at  the  Uni- 
versity, the  first  article  of  whose  constitution 
reads,  "  No  member  shall  at  any  time,  or  on 
any  pretence  whatever,  after  matriculation,  be 
seen  in  the  University  building." 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  student  is  poor,  he 
pays  very  slight  attention  to  what  he  wears.  He 
does  not  the  less,  however,  devote  a  great  portion 
of  his  time  to  beer,  tobacco,  and  the  pursuit 


Student  Life  and  Wanderings.     245 

of  pleasure.  You  will  see  him  at  the  most  fre- 
quented beer-houses  every  night.  If  you  go  to  the 
opera,  you  will  observe  him  also  stalking  thither, 
shiveringly,  through  the  wind,  his  tight  pantaloons 
striking  his  crane-like  legs  about  midships  be- 
tween his  feet  and  knees,  and  his  shoulders 
shrugged  up  in  the  vain  attempt  to  get  more 
warmth  out  of  an  extremely  short  coat.  He  looks 
more  like  the  impersonation  of  Famine,  striding 
about  among  men,  than  the  good,  honest-hearted 
fellow  that  he  is. 

For  with  all  his  faults,  as  our  more  Puritanical 
education  may  lead  us  to  call  them,  the  German 
student  is  an  honest,  generous,  noble-hearted 
fellow.  He  sees  beyond  the  smoke  of  his  own 
pipe,  and  has  deeper  thoughts  than  those  inspired 
by  beer.  His  heart  swells  beyond  the  bounds 
of  his  petty  state.  His  sympathies  are  as  broad 
as  the  old  German  Empire. 

It  is  too  true,  perhaps,  that  when,  in  maturer 
manhood,  he  becomes  angestellt  in  some  life-office 
in  the  gift  of  his  little  prince,  his  liberalism  slum- 
bers or  dies  out ;  but  that  does  not  affect  the 
sincerity  of  his  youthful  sentiment.  I  am  sure 
that  I  never  spoke  with  one  of  them,  on  the  sub- 


246  Vagabond  Adventures* 

ject,  who  had  not  some  dream  of  a  great  united 
Germany. 

There  was  no  more  interested  watcher  of  our 
late  civil  strife  than  the  German  student.  He 
felt  that  the  battle  then  waging  for  the  right  of 
self-government  had  a  connection  with  his  hopes 
for  the  future  of  his  own  severed  land.  Ger- 
many's wrongs  and  the  sigh  for  universal  liberty 
are  the  burden  of  his  many  songs.  No  higher 
and  no  more  appropriate  eulogy  on  the  German 
student  can  be  pronounced  than  to  say  that,  in 
his  university  days  at  least,  he  is  true  to  the  spirit 
of  one  of  his  most  beautiful  and  most  popular 
melodies,  "To  the  bold  deed,  the  free  word,  the 
generous  action,  woman's  love,  and  the  father- 
land." 

By  the  laws  of  German  universities,  a  matricu- 
lated student  is  not  obliged  to  pay  for  more  than 
the  lectures  of  one  professor  during  a  semester, 
—  that  is,  six  months.  I  managed,  therefore,  to 
pay  for  the  cheapest,  and  attended  as  many  more 
as  I  liked  ;  so  about  ten  dollars  a  year  were  my 
collegiate  expenses. 

To  confess  the  truth,  my  calendar  and  that  of 


Student  Life  and  Wanderings.     247 

the  University  did  not  always  agree.  I  often  took 
vacations  in  session  time,  in  the  shape  of  long  ex- 
cursions on  foot,  and  sometimes  disappeared  from 
Heidelberg  for  weeks  together.  My  Hausfrau  — 
she  that  received  the  princely  income  of  eighty 
cents  a  month  for  my  room  —  at  first  showed 
symptoms  of  anxiety  about  me ;  but  she  soon 
learned  to  be  surprised  at  no  wild  freak  of  her 
aerial  lodger. 

By  these  tours  on  foot,  —  the  only  philosophi- 
cal way  of  travelling,  —  and  by  the  occasional  aid 
of  the  cheap  third-class  cars  of  that  country, 
I  visited  all  parts  of  Germany,  and  learned  more 
of  the  language,  character,  and  habits  of  its 
odd,  warm-souled  people  than  I  ever  could  have 
learned  at  the  great  hotels  and  in  the  first-class, 
railway  carriages.  During  the  long  vacations,  and 
especially  after  leaving  Heidelberg  altogether,  I 
extended  my  explorations  into  remoter  parts,  — 
into  the  Tyrol,  Switzerland,  Italy,  and  France. 

I  travelled  in  a  way  in  which  probably  no 
American  has  ever  travelled  before  or  since, 
namely,  disguised  as  a  Handwerksbursche,  —  a 
wandering  tradesman.  Any  one  who  has  been 
in  Europe  will  not  ask  why  a  stranger  in  that 


248  Vagabond  Adventures. 

land  should  need  to  pass  himself  off  as  a  poor 
native,  if  he  wants  to  save  money.  On  the 
Continent,  as  a  general  rule,  a  man  in  broad- 
cloth, not  personally  known  to  the  shop  or  ho- 
tel keeper,  pays  two  prices  ;  whereas  a  person 
speaking  English,  even  if  clad  in  fustian,  pays 
three  prices  ;  and  I  should  like  to  see  him  help 
himself.  The  English  language  has  come  to  be 
mistaken  for  a  gold-mine  all  through  Europe. 

These  wandering  tradesmen,  these  Hand- 
werksburschen,  let  me  say,  —  for  they  are  un- 
known to  nations  under  free,  constitutional  gov- 
ernments, —  are  a  sort  of  fossil  remains  of 
feudalism.  They  are  young  fellows,  half  jour- 
neymen, half  apprentices,  who  are  obliged  to 
wander  for  two  or  three  years  from  city  to  city, 
working  at  their  trades.  They  finally  return  to 
their  homes,  weary  and  poor ;  having  learned 
little  but  the  rough  side  of  the  world,  —  to 
make  what  is  called  their  "  masterpiece."  If 
this  pass  muster,  they  are  entitled  to  style  them- 
selves masters  of  their  trades. 

They  grow  out  of  that  old  illiberal  principle 
which  compels  the  son  to  follow  in  the  footsteps 
of  his  father  and  his  grandfather.  Yet,  for  all 


Student  Life  and  Wanderings.    249 

the  narrow-minded  enactments  and  regulations 
to  crush  their  spirit  and  make  them  miserable, 
they  always  walk  on  the  sunny  side  of  nature. 
They  are  a  jovial  set  of  vagabonds,  who  have 
rarely  the  chance  to  be  dishonest,  if  they  had 
the  inclination. 

Disguised  in  the  blouse  of  their  class, — 
something  like  our  Western  "warmus,"  except 
that  it  is  of  thin  blue  stuff,  —  I  have  spent 
many  a  jiappy  hour,  toiling  along  the  same 
road  with  them,  listening  to  their  stories  and 
merry  songs.  If  I  meet  one  of  them  on  the 
highway,  he  stops,  offers  me  his  hand,  and  ex- 
changes a  kindly  word.  He  takes  out  his  pipe, 
asks  me  to  fill  mine  from  his  tobacco-pouch,  and 
tells  me  all  he  knows  of  the  road  passed  over. 

He  never  lodges  in  a  city,  unless  he  has  work 
there.  The  village  inn  is  his  castle ;  here  he 
obtains  his  bed  at  night  and  his  breakfast  in 
the  morning  for  seven  kreutzers,  —  not  quite  five 
cents ;  and  trudges  on,  smoking  and  singing, 
through  all  Europe.  This  is  the  Handwerks- 
bursche,  poor,  but  merry  ;  the  knight-errant  of 
the  bundle  and  staff;  the  troubadour  and  min- 
nesinger of  the  nineteenth  century. 


250  Vagabond  Adventures. 

In  Switzerland,  for  instance,  where  almost 
every  one  travels  as  a  pedestrian,  and  where 
hundreds  of  our  countrymen  every  year  blister 
their  inexperienced  feet  at  the  rates  of  from  ten 
to  thirty  francs  a  day,  I  have  journeyed  sump- 
tuously —  thanks  to  my  disguise  —  for  thirty  sous. 
When  addressed  in  French,  if  my  broken  speech 
was  noticed,  it  was  supposed  that  I  was  from 
one  of  the  German  cantons ;  and,  in  the  same 
manner,  if  my  bad  German  was  detected,  I  was 
set  down  as  from  one  of  the  French  cantons. 

This  gratuitous  naturalization  on  one  day  and 
expatriation  on  the  next  had  no  bad  effect  what- 
ever on  my  health,  whereas  it  had  the  best 
possible  result  on  my  purse. 

My  blouse  was  a  protection,  not  only  to  the 
respectable  suit  of  clothes  which  I  wore  under  it, 
but  against  all  the  impositions  practised  upon 
travellers.  When  I  arrived  at  a  large  city  or 
watering-place,  I  generally  hired  a  little  room  for 
a  week,  found  a  cheap  place  to  get  my  meals,  and, 
after  settling  prices  for  everything  in  advance, 
divested  myself  of  my .  disguise,  and  "did"  the 
galleries  and  promenades,  to  the  accompaniment 
of  kid  gloves  and  immaculate  linen. 


Student  Life  and  Wanderings.     251 

But  the  glory  of  pedestrianism  is  not  in  cities  ; 
it  is  in  the  broad  highway,  on  the  banks  of  mighty 
rivers,  or  in  the  narrow  footpath  winding  over 
mountains.  There  is  such  pleasure  and  pride  in 
the  consciousness  that  one  can  go  where  and 
when  one  will,  without  waiting  on  coaches  or 
trains.  Thirty,  forty,  or  fifty  good  miles  left 
behind  in  one  day,  by  the  means  of  locomotion 
nature  has  given  to  every  one,  are  not  only  a 
consolation  to  sleep  upon  at  a  village  inn,  but 
make  the  sleep  sounder  and  sweeter.  I  defy  any 
man  not  to  be  proud  of  his  strength,  when  he 
finds  —  as  almost  every  one  will,  after  a  little 
practice  —  that  he  can  make  thirty  miles  on  foot, 
day  after  day,  with  perfect  ease. 

It  is,  however,  just  to  state  that  village  inns 
are  not  always  paradises.  The  hostess  sometimes 
has  more  lodgers  in  her  beds  than  she  receives 
money  for ;  but  a  practised  eye  generally  detects 
such  places  at  a  glance,  and  rarely  exposes  the 
body  to  their  perils.  Every  village  has  at  least 
one  respectable  inn.  Before  my  personal  history 
had  taught  me  this  wisdom  by  excruciating  ex- 
ample, I  had  good  reason  to  believe  that  the 
tortures  of  the  Vehmgericht,  the  old  secret  tri- 


252  Vagabond  Adventures. 

bunal  of  Germany,  were  not  the  things  of  the 
past  which  the  world  thought  them.  I  had 
frequent  occasion,  too,  for  what  might  be  called 
an  equanimity  of  stomach. 

I  arrived  one  evening,  for  instance,  at  a  small 
desolate  village  in  the  remote  eastern  part  of  Ba- 
varia, near  the  Austrian  border.  I  was  weary  and 
hungry,  but  before  mine  host  of  the  inn  would 
have  anything  to  do  with  me,  he  sent  me  on  a 
wild  chase  through  innumerable  narrow,  crooked 
alleys,  in  search  of  the  burgomaster  to  deliver  my 
passport  into  his  hands  and  obtain  his  gracious 
permission  to  remain  over  night  in  the  place. 

The  entrance  to  the  mansion  of  that  dignitary 
was  through  a  cattle-yard.'  He  had  probably 
never  before  in  his  life  heard  of  the  language  of 
my  passport,  but  that  did  not  prevent  his  looking 
at  it  with  an  official  air  of  infinite  wisdom.  I 
returned  to  the  inn  at  last,  fortified  with  the 
requisite  credentials. 

The  hostess  now  appeared,  and  asked  me  what 
I  would  eat,  addressing  me  familiarly  in  the  sec- 
ond person  singular.  Her  long  lank  frame  was 
attired  in  the  abominable  costume  of  the  Bavarian 
peasantry.  I  could  compare  her  to  nothing  but 


Student  Life  and  Wanderings.     253 

a  giant  specimen  of  the  Hungarian  heron,  which 
I  need  hardly  say  is  not  a  pretty  bird. 

The  same  room  served  as  parlor  and  kitchen. 
I  sat  patiently  and  watched  her  kindling  the  fire 
in  the  great  earthen  stove,  indulging  my  mind  as 
hungry  people  are  wont  to  do,  with  rich  visions 
of  imaginary  banquets.  What  was  my  horror  to 
see  her  take  the  eggs,  which  I  had  ordered,  break 
them  one  by  one  into  her  greasy  leathern  apron, 
and  commence  beating  them  vigorously  with  a 
pewter  spoon ! 

.  As  soon  as  I  recovered  my  presence  of  mind, 
I  considered  the  folly  of  remonstrating  with  her, 
and,  with  a  great  effort,  I  mildly  remarked  that 
she  had  misunderstood  me ;  I  wanted  my  eggs 
boiled.  By  this  stratagem,  I  preserved  my  dis- 
guise and  achieved  a  cleanly  meal  in  defiance  of 
the  leathern  apron. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A   FIGHT   WITH   FAMINE. 

T  N  the  mean  time,  the  condition  of  my  finances 
-*•  was  becoming  hourly  more  desperate.  I 
had  written  to  innumerable  American  news- 
papers, offering  to  produce  a  letter  a  day  for  five 
dollars  a  week,  and  making  all  sorts  of  strug- 
gling tenders  of  brain-work,  from  which,  as  a 
general  rule,  I  heard  nothing  at  all. 

At  last  Christmas  came,  and  found  me  back 
at  Heidelberg,  utterly  penniless  ;  over  five  thou- 
sand miles  from  home,  in  a  country  where  for  a 
stranger  to  obtain  work  was  simply  hopeless ; 
since  the  boys  in  that  densely  populated  land 
have  to  pay  for  the  privilege  of  learning  to  carry 
bundles,  —  a  pursuit  which  is  there  for  three 
years  a  necessary  introduction  to  becoming  a 
salesman  of  the  smallest  wares.  To  obtain  a 
situation  as  beggar  was  still  more  hopeless,  the 
competition  of  native  dwarfs  and  cripples  being 


A  Fight  with  Famine.  255 

altogether    too     powerful    for     an     able-bodied 
alien. 

So  here  was  the  end  of  my  one  hundred  and 
eighty-one  dollars  in  currency.  I  had  made 
what  is  called  the  tour  of  Europe  ;  and  I  now 
had  the  prospect  of  immediate  starvation  for 
my  pains. 

And  yet  that  Christmas  day  was,  by  all  odds, 
the  happiest  day  of  my  life.  For,  just  at  fifteen 
minutes  past  eleven  o'clock,  A.  M.,  the  postman 
knocked  at  the  door  and  handed  me  very  unex- 
pectedly a  letter,  containing  about  twenty-five 
dollars  in  our  money.  It  came  from  an  Ameri- 
can paper,  to  which  I  had  written,  at  least, 
twenty  letters  for  publication,  and  twenty-five 
letters  asking  for  money ;  so  it  was  undoubtedly 
the  twenty-five  dunning  letters  that  were  paid 
for.  And  I  shall  never  be  so  rich  or  happy 
again. 

So  much  has  been  written  about  the  holidays 
in  Germany,  that  I  cannot  be  expected .  to  say 
anything  new  on  the  subject.  It  may,  however, 
have  been  forgotten  by  some  that  the  Weinachten 
of  the  fatherland  commence  on  what  we  call 


256  Vagabond  Adventures. 

"Christmas  eve."  This  is  the  great  night  for 
children.  It  is  their  feast.  It  is  the  time  they 
have  been  looking  forward  to  with  such  wild,  glad, 
gorgeous  anticipation.  It  is  the  night  of  the 
Christmas-tree ;  and,  in  all  Germany  there  is  no 
child  so  poor  as  not  to  get  something  from  its 
green  boughs. 

Besides  this  night,  Christmas  has  two  whole 
days,  to  which  respectively  there  seems  to  be  a 
logical  apportionment  of  two  very  important 
kinds  of  enjoyment.  The  first  day  is  assigned  to 
boundless  eating,  and  the  second  —  mildly  speak- 
ing —  to  getting  drunk  ;  and  it  is  due  to  the  zeal 
of  the  Southern  Germans,  at  least,  to  say  that 
they  observe  this  order  of  ceremonies  with  scru- 
pulous exactness. 

Now,  it  may  be  sentimental,  or  something 
worse,  but  I  confess  I  like  to  dwell  upon  the  time 
when  twenty-five  dollars  made  me  perfectly 
happy.  Memory,  you  may  have  observed,  has  a 
way  of  painting  frescos  with  the  clouds  of  distant 
skies  that  are  even  prettier  than  the  lay-figures 
and  life-forms  which  served  for  the  real  models. 
It  was,  for  instance,  a  quiet  little  scene  of  domestic 
joy,  that  Christmas  of  my  student  life  in  Ger- 


A  Fight  with  Famine.  257 

many ;  yet,  somehow,  it  has  grouped  itself  in  my 
remembrance,  like  the  masterpiece  of  Cornelius, 
the  largest  fresco  of  them  all. 

Frau  Hirtei  was  the  domestic  little  body  of 
whom  I  rented  my  airy  apartment.  Fraulem 
Anna  was  her  rosy  daughter,  and  this  little  sun- 
beam in  the  house  was  the  only  child  of  the  family 
that  I  had  ever  seen  ;  though  many  and  many  a 
time,  the  name  of  Karl,  the  only  son  and  brother, 
was  upon  their  lips.  Karl  was  a  Handwerks- 
bursche,  —  one  of  those  houseless  tradesmen, 
before  dwelt  upon ;  and  on  this  Christmas  Karl 
was  expected  home  from  his  long,  long  wander- 
ings. 

The  illuminated  tree  on  the  night  before  had 
been  laden  with  many  a  gift  of  affectionate  re- 
membrance for  the  absent  Karl.  As  we  sat 
down  to  the  Christmas  dinner,  there  was  a  vacant 
place  at  the  table,  and  in  the  hearts  of  the  dis- 
appointed mother  and  sister.  They  could  not 
touch  a  morsel. 

"Are  you  sure  he  will  come,  mamma  ?"  asked 
the  little  Anna,  after  a  long  silence. 

"Yes,  my  child,  unless  something  has  hap- 
pened ;  for  the  way  is  long  from  Frankfort,  and 

Q 


258  Vagabond  Adventures. 

the  poor  boy's  feet  must  be  sore  with  his  long, 
long  journey." 

"  What,  mamma,  if  he  should  n't  come  ? " 
Frau  Hirtel's  face  became  very  pale,  whether 
at  the  little  Anna's  question  or  at  the  sudden  ring- 
ing of  the  shop-bell,  as  the  door  swung  open  and 

shut.     The  next  instant  Karl  was  in  the  middle 

• 

of  the  room.  His  pack  and  staff  fell  at  his  feet, 
and  Frau  Hirtel  and  the  Fraulein  Anna  sprang 
into  his  arms. 

It  was  not  the  merry  dinner  that  succeeded,  or 
the  Glilhwein  that  made  the  evening  glad,  but 
this  one  picture  which  dwells  most  in  my  memory. 
The  joy  that  shone  on  the  careworn  and  dust- 
stained  face  of  the  returned  wanderer,  reflected 
in  those  of  his  mother  and  sister  as  they  stood  in 
that  long  embrace,  has  no  parallel  that  I  know  of 
in  the  history  of  the  return  of  exiled  kings. 

With  my  twenty-five  dollars  I  lived  cheaper 
than  ever,  and  for  some  months  longer  continued 
my  studies  at  the  University.  But  one  morning  I 
received  a  letter  from  the  same  generous  Ameri- 
can newspaper,  enclosing  a  draft  for  fifty  dollars, 
together  with  a  very  earnest  request  that  the  ed- 


A  Fight  with  Famine.  259 

itor  should  hear  no  more  from  me  on  any  account 
whatever. 

This  good  fortune  was  too  much  for  my  mental 
equilibrium.  Heidelberg  was  too  small  for  me. 
I  started  the  next  day  for  a  trip  down  the  Rhine, 
deck  passage. 

At  Rotterdam  I  betook  myself  again  to  the 
third-class  cars,  and  occasionally  to  the  bundle 
and  staff.  Thus  I  went  through  Holland  and  Bel- 
gium, walking  leisurely  one  day  over  the  historic 
dead  of  Waterloo. 

Arriving  finally  at  Paris,  I  resolved  there  to 
take  up  my  residence.  By  means  of  a  cheap 
lodging  in  the  old  Latin  Quarter,  and  of  a  cheaper 
restaurant  on  the  Boulevard  Sevastopol,  I  man- 
aged to  subsist  for  several  months. 

It  was  here  in  Paris  that  I  first  met  my  good 
friend,  George  Alfred  Townsend,  the  well-known 
war-correspondent.  To  him  I  was  afterward  in- 
debted for  a  short,  romantic  sketch  of  my  life,  in 
which  he  says,  I  believe,  among  other  complimen- 
tary things,  that  the  faculty  of  Heidelberg  gave 
me  my  tuition  for  nothing,  but  that  I  would  not 
stay  with  them  and  study,  because  I  thought  it 
too  dear! 


260  Vagabond  Adventures. 

But,  seriously,  I  owe  Mr.  Town  send  a  real  debt 
of  gratitude,  for  it  was  he  who  suggested  that  I 
should  write  an  account  of  certain  of  my  experi- 
ences for  one  of  the  London  magazines.  After 
the  questionable  success  of  my  multifarious  at- 
tempts with  American  newspapers,  I  trembled 
at  the  temerity  of  the  idea.  Yet  my  money  was 
becoming  daily  and  by  no  means  beautifully  less. 
Neither  Mr.  Townsend  nor  anybody  else  but 
myself  was  aware  that,  at  the  time  of  his  sugges- 
tion, my  cash  capital  consisted  of  one  gold  na- 
poleon, a  silver  five-franc  piece,  and  some  three 
or  four  sous ;  and  even  this  sum  had  dwindled 
considerably  before  I  could  muster  courage  to 
make  the  attempt. 

At  last,  in  a  fit  of  desperation,  I  sat  down  one 
morning,  with  the  equivalent  of  about  two  dol- 
lars in  my  pocket,  and  commenced  my  article. 
In  three  days  more  it  was  on  its  way  to  London 
with  an  enclosure  of  British  stamps,  enough  to 
pay  for  the  letter  which  should  tell  me  whether 
it  was  accepted  or  rejected. 

I  shall  not  dwell  longer  than  I  can  help  upon 
the  painful  suspense  of  the  succeeding  five  or 
six  days  ;  though  I  do  not  remember  now  my 


A  Fight  with  Famine.  261 

grounds  for  expecting  an  answer  in  so  short  a 
period. 

Up  to  that  time  I  will  venture  to  say  there 
was  not  a  happier  person  in  the  gay  capital  of 
France  than  I  had  been  ;  for  it  is  one  of  the 
peculiar  charms  of  Paris  that  it  affords  abun- 
dant amusement  for  him  who  spends  forty  francs 
a  month,  as  I  did,  or  forty  thousand  a  month, 
as  some  do. 

I  cannot  explain  now,  any  more  than  you  can 
believe  in,  my  happiness  then.  I  know  only 
that  the  beautiful  city  was  delightful,  and  that 
I  was  delighted.  The  palaces,  the  galleries,  the 
gardens,  the  parks,  the  music,  and  the  wonder- 
ful diorama  of  the  evening  Boulevards  were 
free, — as  free  to  me,  the  vagabond  stranger,  as 
they  were  to  the  greatest  prince  ;  and  I  had 
the  additional,  though  not  necessarily  comfort- 
able, assurance  that  I  always  carried  away  from 
them  a  better  appetite  for  the  next  meal  than 
did  even  his  inscrutable  majesty,  the  Emperor 
himself. 

But  now  that  I  had  the  growing  cares  of  au- 
thorship on  my  mind,  it  dwelt  more  and  more 
upon  the  waning  disks  of  my  franc-pieces,  as 


262  Vagabond  Adventures. 

they  swelled  for  a  time  illusively  into  sous,  and 
then  tapered  into  centimes  and  disappeared 
from  my  gaze  forever. 

At  this  period  I  found  myself  occasionally 
strolling  down  to  the  Seine,  and  looking  over 
from  Pont  Neuf  at  the  flood  below,  swollen 
with  the  late  rains,  and  listening  to  the  strange 
sound  it  made  in  the  wake  of  the  old  stone  arches, 
as  it  rushed  on  toward  the  Morgue,  —  the  famous 
dead-house,  where  hundreds  of  suicides  are  dis- 
played every  year. 

Have  you  ever  heard  the  last  "  bubbling  groan  " 
of  a  drowning  man  ?  If  you  have,  you  will  un- 
derstand the  feeling  with  which,  after  listening 
long  and  steadily  to  the  low  rumble  of  the  eddy- 
ing water,  I  have  received  the  impression  more 
than  once  on  that  old  bridge,  that  I  heard  the 
same  fatal  gurgling  sound  in  the  river  beneath ; 
and  yon  will  understand  the  feeling,  also,  I  think, 
with  which,  at  such  times,  I  cast  a  hasty  glance 
at  the  Morgue,  not  far  distant,  and  hurried  on  to 
the  more  cheerful  neighborhood  of  the  garden  of 
the  Tuileries. 

I  would  not  have  you  believe  that  the  idea  of 
suicide  ever  crossed  my  mind.  I  merely  went 


A  Fight  with  Famine.  263 

and  looked  into  the  Seine,  on  that  queer,  un- 
explained principle  which  impels  miserable  people, 
the  world  over,  to  haunt  wharves  and  bridges, 
and  to  gaze  listlessly  into  water.  I  have  some- 
times thought,  when  I  saw  servant-girls  and  others 
out  of  employ  looking,  for  instance,  from  the 
bridge  of  boats  at  Manheim  into  the  Rhine,  as 
into  the  window  of  an  intelligence-office,  —  I 
have  sometimes  thought,  I  say,  that  if  dogs  do  go 
mad  from  gazing  into  water,  as  I  think  was  once 
believed,  they  are  vefy  miserable  dogs,  and  very 
much  disgusted  with  the  world,  before  they  do  it. 

One  day,  —  the  fourth  of  my  suspense,  if  I*re- 
member,  —  when  I  was  more  despondent  and 
hungry  than  usual,  I  went  and  looked  in  through 
the  grating  of  the  Morgue  itself.  If  I  had  ever 
had  the  least  thought  of  throwing  myself  into 
the  Seine,  this  horrible  sight  would  have  cured 
me  as  thoroughly  of  it  as  it  did  of  my  appetite 
for  the  rest  of  that  day. 

I  feel  some  diffidence  about  mentioning  a  plan 
—  happily  abandoned,  as  you  shall  see,  before 
put  into  further  execution  —  which  suggested 
itself  to  my  mind  during  that  hungry  week, 
namely,  to  visit  the  Morgue  once  a  day  for  pur- 


264  Vagabond  Adventures. 

poses  of  economy ;  but,  luckily,  I  discovered 
about  this  time  that  the  smoking  of  cigarettes 
made  of  cheap  French  tobacco  would  perform  the 
same  service  of  taking  away  the  appetite,  and  I 
adopted  the  latter  more  agreeable  means  to  that 
end. 

The  fifth  and  sixth  days  after  sending  my  arti- 
cle I  did  scarcely  anything  but  wait  about  the 
office  for  my  letter.  Finally,  a  note  arrived 
from  Paternoster  Row,  with  just  one  line  of  the 
worst  penmanship  in  it  that  has  ever  yet  met 
my  eyes  ;  and  the  painful  suspense  was  only 
intensified.  The  writer  evidently  said  some- 
thing about  my  article,  but  what  I  despaired  of 
making  out. 

I  took  the  note  to  my  friends,  and  they  were 
divided  about  it ;  some  said  that  the  article  was 
rejected,  and  some  that  it  was  accepted.  The 
majority,  however,'  favored  the  latter  opinion,  to 
which,  at  last,  myself  was  brought,  and  I  was 
happy. 

Not  long  afterward  I  received  a  draft  from  the 
publishers  for  a  sum  which  seemed  to  me  at  that 
time  almost  fabulous,  for  the  amount  of  work 
done.  After  a  hearty  meal,  and  as  soon  as  I 


A  Fight  with  Famine.  265 

had  time  to  think,  I  considered  my  fortune  made. 
I  was  now  arrived  at  the  appalling  dignity  of 
magazinist,  —  contributor  to  the  widest-circulated 
periodical  in  the  language. 

I  packed  my  trunk  immediately,  and  started 
for  Italy. 


12 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE   CONCLUSION. 

T  STAYED  at  Florence  all  winter,  living  on 
-*•  the  cheapest  of  food,  indeed,  but  with  the 
very  best  of  company.  I  haunted  the  galleries 
and  studios  so  much  that  the  artists  took  me  for 
a  devotee  of  art,  and  never  asked  me  how  I 
lived. 

At  dusk  it  was  my  custom  to  steal  away  to- 
ward my  dinner,  passing  Michael  Angelo's  David, 
forever  about  to  throw  the  stone  across  the 
famous  old  Piazza,  and  gliding  down  a  by-street 
till  I  came  to  'the  market.  There,  in  a  little 
cook-shop,  amid  the  filth  and  noise  of  the  very 
raggedest  of  Florence,  I  partook  of  my  maca- 
roni, or,  if  I  was  fastidious,  of  my  boiled  beans 
and  olive-oil,  for  seven  centesimi, —  one  cent  and 
two  fifths  of  a  cent ;  my  bread  made  of  chest- 
nuts for  two  centesimi,  —  two  fifths  of  a  cent ; 
and  my  half-glass  of  wine  for  seven  centesimi, 


The  Conclusion.  267 

—  my  dinner,  with  a  scrap  of  meat,  averaging 
five  cents,  and  rarely  exceeding  ten. 

My  glass  of  wine  may  be  considered  an  ex- 
travagance. It  was  not.  I  could  stand  the  bus- 
tle, the  uncleanliness,  and  even  the  staring  at  a 
passably  well-dressed  person  in  such  an  unaccus- 
tomed place ;  but  I  could  not  stand  the  positive 
amazement  expressed  by  young  men  and  old 
women,  old  men  and  young  women,  beggars 
and  organ  artists,  trie  day  when  I  omitted  wine. 
It  was  too  much  for  endurance.  Public  opinion 
was  against  me.  I  pretended  to  have  forgotten 
to  order  my  wine,  and  turned  off  the,  whole 
affair  with  a  laugh. 

Many  and  many  a  time  I  have  seen  a  poor 
old  creature,  who  was  often  my  next  neighbor  at 
table,  pay  two  centesimi  for  bread  and  seven 
centesimi  for  wine,  and  that  was  her  whole 
meal.  Bancroft  Ubrwry 

This  experience  has  always  helped  me  to  be- 
lieve the  account  of  th^t  strange  incident  in  the 
history  of  the  Florentines,  given,  I  think,  by 
Macchiavelli,  in  which  it  is  related  that  during 
the  Republican  days  of  Florence,  when  there 
was  a  hostile  army  making  an  inroad  on  their 


268  Vagabond  Adventures. 

territories,  the  doughty  republicans,  having  gone 
out  to  meet  it,  lay  encamped  some  time  not  far 
from  Lucca  ;  and  that,  suddenly,  when  the  enemy 
was  almost  upon  them,  they  revolted,  turned 
around,  and  marched  home  again,  to  let  their 
territory  and  the  fortunes  of  their  city  take  care 
of  themselves,  because  the  Florentine  army  had 
unfortunately  got  out  of  wine ! 

Sometimes  I  spent  my  evenings  at  the  cafe, 
where  I  always  took  my  breakfast,  and  where  for 
three  soldi,  —  three  cents,  —  invested  in  coffee  or 
chocolate,  I  could  sit  as  long  as  I  liked,  reading 
the  papers,  or  listening  to  the  talk  of  my  artist 
friends.  It  was  always  cheaper  for  me  to  go  to 
the  opera  —  taking  a  very  high  seat,  by  the  way 
—  than  to  have  a  light  and  a  fire  in  my  room.  I 
have  seen  an  opera  with  a  hundred  or  more  peo- 
ple on  the  stage  at  a  time,  in  a  theatre  as  large 
as,  and  some  say  larger  than,  there  is  in  London 
or  Paris,  and  all  it  cost  me  was  eight  cents. 

Thus  I  lived  on  in  the  city  of  art  and  olives. 
When  my  money  began  to  give  out  again,  I 
thought  I  would  condescend  to  transmit  another 
article  to  the  London  magazine  which  had  made 


The  Conclusion.  269 

my  fortune  before.  I  transmitted  another  article ; 
and  at  the  time  when  I  ought  to  have  heard  from 
it  I  was  reduced  to  the  sum  of  forty  francs. 

Receiving,  at  last,  an  envelope  with  the  Pater- 
noster mark  upon  it,  I  restrained  my  joy,  and 
opened  it  leisurely,  making  merely  the  mental  res- 
olution that  I  would  dine  in  state  that  day ;  for 
this  was  a  longer  article  than  the  first  one,  and  the 
sum  which  it  would  bring  must  be  simply  enor- 
mous. Then  I  proceeded  to  read  the  following 
letter-:  — 


"  DEAR  SIR,  —  Your  article  entitled 

is  respectfully  declined  "  ! 

This  time  starvation  was  sure ;  but  I  had  set 
my  heart  on  seeing  Rome.  I  thought  there  would 
be  a  sort  of  melancholy  satisfaction  in  having  vis- 
ited the  capital  of  the  ancient  world  before  going 
to  any  other  new  one.  I  therefore  took  the  next 
open-topped  car  for  the  sea-shore,  having  previ- 
ously put  my  first  rough  draft  of  my  unfortunate 
article  into  a  new  wrapper,  and  shipped  it  off  to 
the  editor  of  a  less  pretending  periodical,  pub- 
lished at  Edinburgh. 

I  do  not  remember  how  or  why,  but  the  night 


270  Vagabond  Adventures. 

after  I  left  Florence  I  had  to  lie  over  at  Pisa, 
where  I  came  near  being  robbed  of  what  little 
money  I  had  at  a  miserable,  cheap  trattoria,  not 
far  from  the  famous  Leaning  Tower.  I  found  a 
fierce-moustached  bandit  of  a  fellow  in  my  room 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  stealthily  approaching 
the  head  of  my  bed,  and  scared  him  away,  I  shall 
always  Relieve,  by  the  bad  Anglo-Italian  in  which 
I  expressed  my  sense  of  surprise  and  concern  at 
his  untimely  and  extraordinary  conduct. 

Two  days  afterward  I  took  a  fourth-class,  that 
is,  deck  passage  on  the  French 'steamer,  sailing 
down' the  Mediterranean  from  Leghorn.  I  stayed 
a  week  at  Rome,  and  came  very  near  staying 
much  longer.  It  was,  indeed,  by  a  miraculous 
chance  that  I  ever  left  the  Eternal  City.  I  had 
not  money  enough  to  pay  the  Pontifical  tax  on 
departing  travellers. 

It  is  too  long  a  story  to  tell  here,  but  I  slipped 
through  the  fingers  of  the  police,  and,  arriving 
at  Leghorn  again,  I  had  not  the  ten  cents  to 
pay  the  boatman  to  take  me  ashore  from  the 
steamer. 

My  trunk,  by  the  way,  I  had  left  at  Leghorn 
before  starting  for  Rome  ;  so  that  was  out  of 
danger,  and  came  properly  to  hand  afterward. 


The  Conclusion.  271 

As  my  lucky  star  would  have  it,  an  American 
bark  was  lying  at  anchor  in  the  bay.  It  was  the 
first  time  I  had  seen  the  "  star-spangled  banner  " 
for  two  years,  and  I  flew  to  it  for  protection.  I 
directed  the  boatman  to  take  me  to  the  American 
ship. 

Standing  in  the  bow  of  the  smaller  craft,  as 
soon  as  she  reached  the  greater  one  I  sprang  up 
the  side,  and  the  boatman  sprang  after  me.  He 
detained  half  of  my  coat,  but  I  reached  the  deck, 
where  I  kept  him  at  bay  with  a  belaying-pin  till 
some  one  on  the  ship  was  roused  ;  for  it  was  early 
in  the  morning.  The  ten  cents  were  paid  over  to 
the  clamorous  Italian  by  a  hearty  tar,  who  was 
moved  to  see  an  American  in  distress,  "  with  his 
mainsail  carried  away,"  —  I  think  that  is  the  way 
the  tar  phrased  it. 

The  captain  of  the  ship  was  a  warm-hearted  old 
fellow  from  down  in  Maine.  He  offered  to  take 
me  home  before  I  asked  him.  I  had  a  boyish 
love  of  independence,  and  proposed  to  work.  He 
said  he  would  n't  be  bothered  with  me ;  he  would 
take  me  as  his  only  passenger.  We  settled  the 
matter  at  last  by  my  contracting  grandly  to  owe 
him  fifty  dollars  in  "  greenbacks." 


272  Vagabond  Adventures. 

Our  vessel  was  about  twenty  years  old,  and 
laden  with  rags  and  great  blocks  of  marble.  We 
had  a  terrible  storm  in  the  Mediterranean,  in 
which  we  came  near  going  down.  The  old  craft 
seemed,  however,  to  have  some  secret  under- 
standing with  fate ;  for,  having  shifted  her  cargo, 
she  floated,  wellnigh  on  her  beam-ends,  the  rest 
of  that  desolate  ten  weeks  through  the  Mediter- 
ranean and  across  the  Atlantic. 

I  arrived  at  Boston  finally,  without  a  cent.  I 
had  directed  that  all  letters  should  be  forwarded 
from  my  address  at  Florence  to  the  care  of  the 
merchant  to  whom  our  ship  was  consigned. 
What  was  my  surprise,  then,  to  be  handed  by 
that  gentleman  an  envelope  enclosing  a  draft  on 
London,  in  pay  for  the  almost-forgotten  article 
which  I  had  sent  in  sheer  desperation,  if  not  in 
comprehensive  revenge,  to  that  Edinburgh  maga- 
zine ! 

Greenbacks  were  then  at  their  heaviest  dis- 
count, and  English  exchange  at  its  highest  pre- 
mium. And  thus  it  happened  that  I  sold  my 
draft  for  American  money  enough  to  pay  the 
good-hearted  captain  and  the  patriotic  tar,  and  to 
take  me  back  to  Toledo,  my  starting-place,  after 


The  Concision.  273 

an  absence  of  over  two  years,  at  the  total  expense 
of  a  little  more  than  three  hundred  dollars. 

Here,  at  the  proper  end  of  my  pilgrimage  and 
of  this  book,  while  I  am  figuratively  taking  off 
my  sandal  shoon  and  hanging  up  my  pilgrim 
staff,  let  me  say  that,  although  I  did  not  set  out 
with  any  higher  purpose  than  to  tell  just  such  a 
story  as  I  might  tell  under  oath,  still  I  think  I 
discern  in  these  European  adventures  what  I  may 
term  an  ex  post  facto  moral.  Let  not  the  reader, 
however,  practise  and  amuse  his  ingenuity  by  at- 
tempting to  detect  this  in  the  earlier  chapters  of 
the  present  work,  or  by  any  manner  of  means  in 
the  pilgrim  himself;  for,  personally,  he  feels  as 
free  from  a  moral  as  any  pilgrim  he  has  ever  seen 
has  been  free  from  superfluous  linen. 

While,  therefore,  I  would  not  advise  any  young 
man  to  follow  directly  in  my  footsteps,  yet  I  hope 
I  have  shown  that  there  are  means  and  modes  of 
travel  unknown  to  the  guide-books ;  that  there 
are  cheap  ways  for  the  student  and  man  of  lim- 
ited means  to  see  and  learn  much  for  little  money. 

The  sight  of  a  sunrise  from  the  Righi  is  cer- 
tainly more  than  compensation  for  putting  up 
12*  R 


274  Vagabond  A dventures. 

with  a  poor  breakfast.  And  the  candid  traveller, 
however  light  his  purse,  needs  never  return  dys- 
peptic or  misanthropic.  Pure  air  and  hearty  ex- 
ercise in  the  Alps  and  on  the  Danube  cannot  fail 
to  do  him  physical  good  ;  while  he  will  find  in  the 
human  nature  with  which  he  comes  in  contact'  in 
every  land  the  sum  of  the  good  invariably  pre- 
ponderating over  that  of  the  evil. 


THE   END. 


Cambridge  :  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  and  Company. 


